


Careless People

by WorstofAllEvils



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dubious Morality, Explicit Language, F/M, Knights of Walpurgis, Multi, Obsessive Behavior, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Swearing, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26405494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorstofAllEvils/pseuds/WorstofAllEvils
Summary: They meet at 16. The sweetest age, but they are both anything but. Just two broken children who grew up too quickly, looking for someone to blame for the past and determined to make a better future. A story in which two people with destructive tendencies will either save or break one another, and the world along with them.
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. Rivals at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of my other story, The Untold Years. For those who have read it or are interested in doing so, there are some slight changes from the events mentioned in that story, mostly for the sake of timing. Instead of confronting Cass as he does in the flashback in Chapter 4, Cain tells Lestrange, who then informs her parents. In addition, the flashback events in Chapter 11 happen over the summer at Cain's birthday party instead of over winter break. Thus, this story starts at the very beginning of 5th year.

September 1 falls on a Friday this year, welcome news to all Hogwarts students as it means an entire weekend to catch up with their friends before classes start.

Welcome news to Cassandra Malecrit as it means an entire weekend to get herself settled in her new school. She had better make herself comfortable if this place is going to be her home for a year, minimum. At least as comfortable as she can manage with the few earthly possessions in her trunk.

Welcome news to Tom Riddle as it means an entire weekend to review his studies and brush up on his wandwork before he has to show it to others again. He can't risk reminding them all of the fact that he cannot skirt the ministry's rules, as they do, since he doesn't live in a magical household. At least not regularly, though his one foray into underage magic that summer had been extremely successful.

They do not meet that first day. He spends the entire train ride on patrol, taking the chance to further ingratiate himself with the head boy and head girl. She is whisked away by the deputy headmaster as soon as she steps foot into the castle, then ushered through a quick sorting ceremony and series of placement tests that stretch well into the evening.

Instead, it is the second, when he comes up for an early breakfast before a day of studying, that he sees her for the first time. Sitting across from Cain Rosier at the Slytherin table, just finishing up a game of Exploding Snap with Theron Mulciber, who is sitting next to her and who looks absolutely thrilled by her attention, visibly blushing every time their hands touch, stuttering as he congratulates her on her victory. She smiles at the fool before turning back to the prince and lifting her cup for another sip of coffee as she watches him eat. Her own plate is empty, Tom notices. Just a cup of black coffee in her hand and a book sitting open in her lap which she has now bent her head to read. He walks slowly, observing, noticing.

"Who is this then?" Tom asks with a tilt of his head, sliding into his place on the bench in the center of the boys. His question is clearly directed at Cain, now on his right, despite the fact that the _this_ he is asking about is sitting right across from him.

"Cassandra Malecrit," she answers before Cain can, leveling Tom with a stare cold enough to freeze hell. The rest of the group goes quiet, forks and knives frozen in the air.

Cain glances over at Roland Lestrange, who rolls his eyes and smirks in response. He'd told him this was a bad idea, but Cain had insisted that Tom rarely ever joined them for breakfast on the weekends, preferring to spend the timed holed up in the library while no one else was around to distract him.

"French?" Tom asks at her slight accent, tone snide.

"Do you have something against the French?" She asks, still smiling. Her voice is as sweet as an angel's and the stillness of her expression is nearly as off-putting as seeing an actual angel would be.

He returns a smile that is just as obviously fake, voice transforming from rude to overly polite, "Of course not, Ms. Malecrit. Just curious, as I do recall France has it's own magical school."

"It does. I've just transferred from it."

"I didn't know that option existed."

"I don't believe it does, but Dippet insisted."

Silence settles over the table as Tom registers this. The tick of Tom's jaw is a warning sign the rest of them know all too well. Bad idea seems to be taking on a whole new meaning. Tom is a teacher's pet, and he does not like having a rival for their attentions.

Cain takes advantage of the quiet to stand and say, "Cass, come to quidditch practice with me. I'll take you on a tour after -"

Tom foils his rescue effort, never raising his gaze from her as he interrupts with, "I can show her around, Rosier. I am a prefect, it is my job. Now run along. You don't want to be late for your own practice, now do you captain?"

Cain stands there for another second before nodding and smiling again, "Thank you, Riddle. If you need anything, I'll be in the common room after practice, Cass."

The staring contest between the two of them finally breaks as she looks up to smile back at Cain, "It's fine, I'll come out and meet you on the pitch afterward. I'm sure Riddle would be happy to show me the way."

Cain leans over the table to place a kiss on her cheek, whispering as close to a warning as he can manage given the situation, "Au revoir. Sois sage."

"Je suis toujours sage," she responds, her smile growing. He chuckles and resists the urge to pick her up and take her with him as he grabs his broom from the floor instead and turns to leave. She calls off after him, "Don't fall off!"

She walks along the stony corridors beside him, the sound of their shoes clicking against the ground the only noise between them other than his occasional hisses of things like "charms classroom," "study hall," and "divination's up that ladder." For a tour, this is remarkably uninformative. And remarkably boring. She swears she's seen the same wooden door eleven times now, and that they've made it up and down at least two towers. The corridors join and split off randomly, some even doubling back, others suddenly leading to dead ends that they have to pass through a classroom to escape. At least Beauxbatons was much more architecturally cohesive and visually interesting than this.

Regardless, she is loathe to be the one to break first. She'll cross this whole castle a hundred times before saying a word if it means wasting his time. Seeing the way he'd sneered as he ordered Cain off had been all she needed to know about him. Power-tripping prick.

He finally breaks as they are trudging up yet another series of staircases, actually turning to her before speaking again, tone even more snide than usual as he declares, "Hogwarts is a very serious school."

"I am sure all schools are very serious schools, Mr. Riddle," she answers, not letting the politeness drop from her voice despite the fact that he scowls at her in response.

"Slytherin house prides itself on its student's achievements. Don't think just because you are Cain Rosier's intended fiancé -"

"First of all, I am most definitely not Cain Rosier's intended anything. Secondly, you can drop the intimidation act. It might scare the first years, but it does not scare me."

"Please, I've never seen him fall all over himself like that in front of anyone else."

"That is… a different matter entirely. And none of your business."

Tom laughs, the sound so sharp and sarcastic that she draws her wand in response. He looks at it and raises an eyebrow, challenging her to try to use it. His smirk makes her have to remind herself she had promised Cain she wouldn't do something like this. Not on her first day, at least.

"Unrequited love? The pureblood prince must be just _devastated_."

"As I said, it is none of your business. We are friends. Good friends."

"You know, any girl here would swoon if Cain treated her the same way."

"Perhaps I am not like any girl here. Or perhaps you don't know very much about girls, Mr. Riddle. I assure you that there are some of us - perhaps even the majority - who care more about our marks than whose misses we will become."

"Perhaps you should not have transferred to Hogwarts then, Ms. Malecrit. I assure you that the classes here will be much more demanding than your previous course load."

"You're an expert on the Beauxbatons course schedule, are you?"

"The reputation of the school carries."

"As does the reputation of Slytherin house, Mr. Riddle."

"Let me be the first to show you that reputation is entirely accurate," Tom says. His long legs sweep forward as he takes a series of quick double steps up to the next landing, leaving her standing near the middle of the staircase. It jolts and she grabs onto the railing, eyes widening as it starts moving too quickly for her to complete the ascent. He just stands there, smirking at her as he calls down, "Best to run on back to Beauxbatons before you fall too far behind, _Cass_."

She looks down, seeing that the rest of the flights they had just climbed up are shifting too, meaning it will be impossible to completely retrace her steps, especially since she had been paying little attention to their path.

When the motion finally stops and she looks back, he is still there. Smug. Unreachable. She huffs and trounces up to the next landing.

* * *

Tom spends a few hours in the library before the distant chimes of the clocktower and the slight grumbling of his stomach remind him to take a break. Once, he was used to going without food - but he has been spoiled at Hogwarts over the last few years, and he would generally still prefer not to skip a meal if he can help it. He grabs the pile of books he has acquired and heads down to drop them off in his dorm, planning to go grab lunch before the majority of students wake up late as usual and rush in to the Great Hall.

The site that meets his eyes upon entering the Slytherin common room quickly makes him lose his appetite. That blasted girl is lounged out across one of the couches, her head in Cain's lap as she holds up a book in her right hand - _Hogwarts: A History_ , he can tell from the colors of the cover - her eyes focused on it. Cain, in the meantime, has his left arm slung over the back of the couch while his right hangs down, fingers running through her hair scattered across his lap. He is watching her but trying not to look like he is, keeping up a conversation with his teammates about the drills they have just finished running at the same time.

Tom had thought she would still be lost. The castle is large, and he used to wander it for hours when he was still discovering all of its secrets. Hell, even he hasn't discovered _all_ of its secrets yet, despite trying all these years.

There is a flash of a smirk on her face as she sees him approaching out of the corner of her eye. By the time he has reached the fireplace, she is sitting up, stretching her arms over her head as her book lays abandoned to the side. As soon as her arms fall back down, Cain's arm falls from the couch to her shoulders.

"Is anybody else coming up to lunch?" Tom asks, disguising his command as a request. Most of the boys scramble up from the couches. Cain mutters something to Cassandra about going to change and she responds that she has a meeting with a professor anyway, so she will eat later. Tom hovers, watching their conversation for a second before turning on his heel and walking down the staircase to the boy's dorms.

Cain comes in a few minutes later, catching Tom as he is pulling his textbooks from his trunk. He reaches for his own trunk to pull out one of his uniforms while turning his head to say, "Cassandra said she had a nice time. I just wanted to say thank you. If you need anything from Hogsmeade next we -"

Tom rolls his eyes, "You know she doesn't like you, right?"

The lid of Cain's trunk slams shut. Lestrange, Nott, and Avery all freeze, just as taken aback by the harshness of Tom's statement as Cain was.

"No. I don't know that," Cain says tersely, the smile not slipping from his face. "Cassandra and I have been friends nearly our entire lives."

" _Friends_. Sure, let's go with that," Tom says dismissively as he slams his own trunk shuts and leaves.

* * *

She surprises him. In just the first week of classes, she surprises him. Hell, in just the first day. In just the first class.

It's double potions and she actually finishes the assignment before him, though he half blames that on the fact Slughorn paired her with Cain and they can actually communicate while he's partnered with some half-wit Hufflepuff who knocks over the ingredients bottles and blushes every time he speaks. History of Magic passes with them battling to answer questions, a battle that only ends when she corrects the professor about something and he avoids calling on her again. Charms passes by unremarkably, both of them seemingly too bored by the remedial subject matter being covered to bother putting all of their effort into being better than the other at such simple spells.

In Transfiguration the next day, he manages to eke out a few more points than her, though he suspects based on the dark circles under her eyes that lack of sleep is already catching up to her by that point. She is in the common room every night, well past midnight, regaling the gathered crowd with stories of France and Beauxbatons and other adventures while Cain sits beside her, an arm always wrapped around her. He knows she must be up even later reading and practicing because he catches her sitting in the library before dinner every day with a fresh stack of books, for once her shadow not in sight as she takes up a whole corner table to herself at the end of the least popular section where things are quiet and the sun streams through a wall of large windows. They also have Herbology, Arithmancy, and Study of Ancient Runes that day, which all pass similarly to History of Magic, though she avoids offending any professors this time around.

Finally, the next day the class he has been waiting for arrives, double Defense Against the Dark Arts. Merrythought takes warmly to his suggestion before class begins to pair them together, croning about how kind it is for him as the best student in the class to show a new pupil the ropes. That arrangement ends with him on the ground after he fails to defend against a knockback jinx she sent his way. Cleverly enough, she had done it non-verbally after establishing a pattern of hexes, so he had failed to use an appropriate spell to block it. He gets up and dusts off his robes, glaring at her while Professor Merrythought compliments her on her victory.

The sequence of events is enough to distract Cain from his own duel. A flock of birds from his opponent's wand successfully attacks him, leaving scratches all over his arms and chest before knocking him over. She apologizes to the professor and rushes to him, dropping to his side within seconds. He rolls his eyes as Cain's laugh rings through the room at something she quips at him upon her arrival, though it is cut short by a curse not at all appropriate for a classroom as she mutters a healing spell over his cuts that causes him temporary discomfort. They are excused to go to the hospital wing but Tom doubts that is where they actually go, because she does not return for the entire rest of the period and such simple injuries should not take so long to heal.

Astronomy, thankfully, is just an independent star chart assignment that week, meaning there is no class meeting for them to clash during on Friday evening. He thinks that means he will have some peace from her, but that turns out wrong. When he skips dinner to enjoy some quiet while the other boys are out of the dorm, he finds that it is anything but quiet. Cain's voice floats through the air as soon as he opens the door, steady and soft as he reads aloud from _The History of Magic_. His curtains are drawn so Tom stalks up and spells them open, about to yell at him to shut up and do his homework in silence.

Only to find that Cassandra is there, laying against his chest, eyes closed and expression not holding its usual contempt or derision for once. Cain pauses and his eyes flash up to Tom. His bicep flexes as his arm around her tightens momentarily.

"She has trouble sleeping," Cain fumbles quietly, trying to explain before Tom makes a scene and wakes her.

"Being a Rosier does not give you the right to break the rules," Tom hisses, his own voice quieter than usual.

"Tom, please - "

"When she wakes up, let her know you two just lost Slytherin 50 points."

"It's not - "

"Congratulations, you just earned her a detention. Would you like to keep going?" Tom asks, an eyebrow raised. Cain shakes his head and Tom turns away, spelling the curtains shut again behind him as Cain goes back to his drawling.

* * *

Three more weeks pass in much the same way - except for any more unwelcome surprises in the dorm, thank Merlin. They are neck and neck in classes, and Tom has never had to fight so hard for the top spot before. Not all fights he is winning, even. She is ahead in potions, charms, and arithmancy. He spends twice the usual amount of time on the assignments for those classes, berating himself mentally every time he misses even one point. And with him holed away in the library more and more often as she makes more and more friends in their house, she is ahead on popularity so far this year as well.

The effect of her presence on his schedule is something he appreciates even less than her actual presence, which is already unpleasant enough. A month of another year of school already behind him and he still has not found it. Sometimes he thinks if he has to endure one more quip from her or hear her ebullient laughter one more time, he's going to lose it and end up taking matters into his own hands, literally. Her neck is so small, it would be easy to just wrap a hand around it and squeeze. At the very least, hopefully she'll go mute.

Hogsmeade is that Saturday, September 30, though of course the Slytherin team also has double practice scheduled the same morning in preparation for their first match against Ravenclaw in two weeks. Tom wakes up late for once, having stayed up later than usual the previous night studying. The group has already departed for the pitch by the time he reaches the Great Hall. He stops by Slughorn's office to check on a potion, then goes up to the library.

She is not at her usual table as he passes, so he figures she must have gone out to watch. To support her friend. The number of whispers already passing around the castle prove that he is not the only one who questions the use of that term. For a second, he thinks about going to check on the Slytherin team himself, but the day is still chilly and the sport still a useless fancy. Dedicating any time to it will not help him achieve his goals, the entire reason he had never bothered to try out in the first place. And he does not need to grate Cain's nerves again today after their confrontation the previous evening over catching him passing around a bottle of firewhisky in the common room while they played some card game with most of their fellow Slytherin fifth-years.

Tom turns back around and takes up the table himself. Hours pass before he is interrupted by a cough behind him and turns to meet her glare.

"This is my table. Please find another one," Cassandra says, a polite smile on her face though her tone is anything but.

"Last I checked, the library does not take reservations," Tom quips back smoothly before turning back to look at his essay again.

A huff comes from behind him and he thinks she has left, until he hears the chair opposite him scrape against the floor. He looks up, glaring at her, but she just takes her supplies out of her schoolbag methodically, carefully laying them out on the table.

"I prefer to study alone, Ms. Malecrit," he says tersely.

"What a coincidence, so do I," she responds, starting to roll out her parchment anyway.

"Then leave," he orders with a smirk.

"As I said, this is my table. You can leave," she responds. When he scowls and opens his mouth to respond, she preempts him, "Going to dock more house points? Just so you know, I don't care in the slightest - I'll earn them back from answering questions in class within the week anyway. And if you want to give me more detentions, go ahead. Honestly, it would be a welcome break from our fellow pupils."

"Including from him?" Tom asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"I will not fall for your bait again, Mr. Riddle. Trust me, I am very familiar with rumors. Whatever ones you are spreading around the castle, I promise I have been the subject of worse before and they have not fazed me."

"So that's not why you didn't accompany him to Hogsmeade today as I'm sure he asked you to?"

"As you have pointed out previously, I am so woefully behind on my studies due to the poor quality of education I received at my previous school. I really must take all of the free time I have to catch up," she quips sarcastically before dipping her quill in ink. "I am sure Cain will have no trouble finding someone else to entertain him for the day."

"Unfortunately, no one seems to entertain him quite like you."

"Unfortunate that you don't have someone to entertain you. Perhaps you'd be less of a prick that way. What's wrong, nobody asked you to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"I received plenty of invitations."

"Maybe not one from the right girl?" she teases. At his stoic reaction, she giggles. "Or maybe the right boy? I am not one to judge. Tell me who it is and I'll help."

"That's not - I don't need your help with anything."

"It would be a great benefit to me as well, really. Finding someone else to occupy your time so you don't spend the rest of the year obsessing over my relationships."

He chuckles, "Please, I couldn't care less about you. You are the one who is always bothering me, as you are doing right now."

"Consider it thanks for the warm welcome you have given me to Hogwarts," she says, a smirk plastered on her face. "I cannot wait to see what delightful surprises you have planned for next month."

"It has been my pleasure, Cass," he responds sarcastically, a matching smirk on his face, before falling quiet and returning to his studies.

She puckers her lips to hold back whatever response she has, instead turning her head down to her parchment to start writing, her hair cascading over the side of her face as she raises her other arm to use her hand to support her forehead. Both of them too stubborn to be the one to move and too busy to continue their banter in hopes of wearing the other down. A truce for now, though he soon wants to end it as he finds himself distracted by the scratching of her quill.

She is odd, and he has to admit slightly entrancing. The way she bites her lip whenever her hand stills and she stares at the paper, thinking of what to write next. The way she turns her head to the side, only her eyes moving across her reference book as the pages flit back and forth at her silent command. The way she pulls at her own hair when she is really focused, twisting it between her fingers. Watching her is like watching a ballet without any steps.

She suddenly drops her quill and turns her head sharply at him, eyes narrowed as she demands, "Why are you staring at me?"

Tom's jaw clicks before he answers, "I am not staring at you."

She looks around pointedly at the empty library before speaking again.

"Then there must be something truly fascinating about the blue sky in the window behind me that I just cannot see for myself," she responds before reaching her arms up and arching her back to stretch. She looks back down at the parchment again, the fingers of her writing hand flexing as she reviews her work. Despite his statement, he does not avert his eyes. He cannot bring himself to.

She adds, "If you are trying to scare me into leaving, it's not going to work."

He smirks but keeps looking, "As I've said, I couldn't care less -"

Despite his words, she knows that he does. There is a certain curiosity in his eyes that has become all too familiar to her over the last month. A certain sharpness to his expression that screams _break_ at her. She senses him always looking at her, always analyzing her, waiting for a moment of weakness where he can come in and crack her shell, force her to share a secret or to behave in a way she should know better than to. She knows his interest is not about her, not really. It is only about the fact that, unlike apparently everyone else in their house and a large portion of the students and even professors, she has not submitted to him. He hasn't been able to tear her down, to assert his superiority as he is so used to doing. It kills him, not being in control of everyone and everything around him. He's going to find out her weakness at some point, so why not put it out there herself to make it seem less appealing? After all, no one would admit to their own biggest vulnerability.

"I might as well tell you now so you don't spread your speculation about it to everyone else. Though I suppose you still could, if you really do want to run me off. I didn't go to Hogsmeade because there would have been no point to it. I don't have any money to spend there. I'm sure Lestrange would have told you that, and everything else about me, if you admitted to wanting to know."

His face lights up with a wry smile at his perceived victory as he mocks, "Don't fret. I am sure Rosier would buy you anything your heart desires."

"I am not friends with Cain Rosier so that I can benefit from his charity, and my heart desires much more than baubles and trinkets," she snaps. Her tongue is sharp and her body wound tightly like a cloud waiting to storm. Their eyes meet as he finishes examining her.

He does not look away as he slithers, "What does your heart desire, Ms. Malecrit?"

"What does yours, Mr. Riddle?" she challenges back. It is not until the clock chimes out the hours that she breaks his gaze, mentally counting its rings. The chair scrapes again as she stands up, folding her things together and picking them up in her arms, "I must go. I look forward to continuing our conversation at a later time."

So does he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you have any questions. As always, thanks for reading and I appreciate any and all comments you may have!


	2. Violent Tendencies

Tom calls the first meeting on Monday evening. They slip into the abandoned classroom a few doors down from the common room one by one over the course of a half hour or so. First Lestrange, then Nott, then Avery, then Mulciber, and finally Rosier. All taking their designated seats around the table while Tom stands, casually leaning against the chalkboard and staring them down, not saying a word until every chair except his own is filled.

Tom approaches the table, hovering behind the empty chair as he starts to speak, "As everyone knows, fifth year is a very important year. At the end of it, we will be taking OWLs, which will eventually play a large part in determining ministry placements. Which will play a large part in ensuring we have enough power to change wizarding society for the better."

He pauses as everyone nods and concurs, some muttering things about mudbloods and pureblood supremacy under their breaths. Rosier is silent. No doubt he thinks he already knows where this is going. The golden boy might be excelling on the quidditch field, but his marks so far - apart from potions, largely by virtue of his partner - have been absolute shit. By Tom's standards, anyway. Worse, he isn't the only one. Mulciber and even Nott have slipped as well, though the two of them probably think it's too slight for Tom to have noticed already. They, unlike Rosier, are not used to being the constant recipients of his ire.

"However, I've noticed certain members of our group have been a bit… distracted as of late. I am sure I no longer have to explain how important it is that we _all_ maintain our focus, in classes and outside of them. So we will be doing a double lesson today. Defense and legilimency. We will work in pairs. Each of you will have the goal of acquiring one secret from the other's mind, while using any means necessary to try to prevent your opponent from doing so first. For the sake of demonstration, I will start. If you'd be so kind as to assist, Lestrange."

Being Tom's guinea pig is a role none of them envy. It's just entering a fight one knows one is sure to lose. The only reason they respect him is because of his magical talents - as well as that handy little trick of speaking to snakes that serves as just enough proof of his ancestry to satisfy them. For now. He knows it won't be forever. That he will have to show them something more to prove his legacy sooner rather than later.

He had thought the ring might serve as some sort of key, but he had already cast a homing spell on it every single night he'd been on patrol this year without any luck. He's already searched this bloody castle from the highest turret to the lowest dungeon countless times and still hasn't found the opening. _No matter, he will_ , he convinces himself. Back to sneaking into the archives to view the old school plans again for now.

Lestrange gulps and stands, walking dutifully over to the strip of space they have cleared of desks at the back of the room. Tom meets him with a smirk and waits for his slight bow before raising his wand. To his credit, the boy really does try, but it's not enough. Only a few minutes pass before he is backed into the corner, nowhere else to run, and his shield flickering as loses the ability to concentrate on it instead of on Tom's figure stalking toward him. The smile of a predator on Tom's face as he closes in, jumping into his mind but finding it purposefully blank. A white space devoid of windows or doors, only shadows that disappear as quickly as they flit into view at the corners of his mind.

"Playing hide and seek with your thoughts, are we Lestrange? Let's see how well you can control them after this runs through your mind," Tom teases, casting a cruciatus curse, feeling the other boy's mind explode and watching as his body eventually crumples to the ground, screams tearing from his throat. The white turns to red and then shifts darker. They are a deep garnet and Lestrange is nearly unconscious by the time Tom finally drops the curse.

Lestrange whimpers but he does not have the energy to speak, let alone hide now. It feels like Tom is cradling his mind in his hands, squeezing it, molding it, pressing into it until he sees what he wants. A dark night, whispered voices, Lestrange tumbling back toward a bed with Alphard Black in his arms. As Tom had suspected, though he didn't much care. As long as Lestrange fulfilled his pureblood duty to have an heir or two when the time came, what he did in the bedroom was his own business. Really, his little crush on Tom can only be helpful to him.

He leans down to help Lestrange up and back to his chair before taking a seat in his own. He spares Lestrange the ignominy of sharing his secret, not that any of them dare question Tom for it as proof of his victory. Instead, he watches silently as Avery and Mulciber dual each other next. The pair have two completely distinct styles, with Avery focusing on tricks and distractions while Mulciber goes straight for abject cruelty. Too bad that, unlike Tom, he cannot summon the anger to make a cruciatus curse actually work and instead slips on a patch of ice Avery creates on the floor and falls. In the instant his mind is spinning with surprise instead of focus as he tumbles toward the ground, Avery takes the chance to look into it.

"He has a crush on Amelia Bones," Avery announces as Mulciber stumbles back up.

"A hufflepuff? Mate, even you can do better," Nott calls out with a chuckle.

"She's pureblood," Mulciber mumbles back while rubbing his head. "So I don't see what's so bad about it just because she's a hufflepuff and nice."

"Take some advice, the most interesting ones are never nice," Nott says before turning back to Tom with a wicked smile. "My turn?"

Tom nods. Rosier rises first, taking his stance while Nott makes a show of rolling up his sleeves and pulling out his wand. The two of them have always been friendly rivals, from the very first day of school. Both from prominent families, both absurdly rich, both the only male heirs. Used to being the center of attention everywhere they went.

Then Hogwarts started and Rosier pushed Nott off of center stage, winning the day with his charm and his smiles and his ease. Rosier is the perfect gentlemen, always poised, always polished, always making everyone in his presence feel comfortable with it. Everyone he meets thinks they are his friend, even if they are so inconsequential to him that he hardly remembers their name.

Nott is rougher around the edges. Raised with a father as cranky as his is, it was almost inevitable that he would be. His manners make him aloof, not charming. Stiff, standoffish, and snooty. The only smile that every graces his face is at someone else's expense. The only time he ever tries to befriend anyone, it's a girl and his ultimate goal isn't exactly noble. People don't love him so much as they love to hate him, a reputation he has embraced. It doesn't mean he's still not bitter at Rosier for being more popular than he is.

"Ready?" Rosier asks with a smile, politely holding his own wand at his side until Nott confirms with a nod. He raises it but is a second too late.

It appears Nott has decided on another strategy, no doubt recognizing that he wouldn't be able to win a fair duel, he's decided to use his size and strength as a beater to his advantage. By trying to beat the shit out of Rosier. He charges up, punching Rosier in the stomach before he can fire a spell. Rosier grabs his arm and twists it away before he can get in another hit, taking the chance to point his wand into his abdomen.

"What, are we muggles now?" Rosier takes a second to mock.

A second he should have really been using to fight, considering that Nott seems extra determined today. He wraps an arm around Rosier's shoulders, twisting their bodies and throwing him to the floor, his wand falling loose and rattling across the room. Nott kneels over him, aiming his fist for Rosier's jaw and manages to get a few hits in while Rosier is trying to summon his wand.

"Don't pretend this isn't exactly what you wanted to do to me the other day on the pitch. We both know sometimes it's a bit more satisfying to take out one's aggression physically."

Rosier gives in to doing this without magic and catches his hand before it can make contact again. He swings them around so now he is the one on top, but does not go for revenge right away, instead trying to hold down Nott's arms to prevent him getting another hit in as he tries to dissuade him from continuing this.

"It seems you've forgotten the objective of this game, mate."

"I haven't, _mate_. But you're so bloody good at weaseling into other people's minds and protecting your own that the only way I'm going to win is to knock you unconscious first."

A tangle of limbs and fists and movement later and Rosier is on his stomach on the ground, Nott climbed over him and grabbing the back of his head with the intention to bash it into the stone floors. Rosier manages a wandless spell to throw him off and climb back onto his feet, spitting out blood while Nott recovers from his slide across the classroom and impact against the wall.

Tom can see the moment when Rosier's eyes narrow so that he can focus on penetrating Nott's mind. He takes advantage of the fact that Rosier has to lower his own barriers to slip into his and wade through his memories.

Balloons and little cakes and too much noise in a crowded, extravagant ballroom. A whisper in his ear about a game of hide and go seek as he dances with another witch. An escape attempt in disguise on her part. Just what he'd wished for on his. The disappointed face of one of the Black sisters as he excuses himself before the song even ends, rushing toward the doors he saw her slip out of.

Laughter ringing through humid summer air as he chases her and she runs into the hedge maze in the gardens. Laughter, laughter, laughter until he catches her in the center, drawing her against him and kissing her. Pouring _everything_ into that kiss, arms wrapping around her to forestall escape, hands clawing at her to show how desperate he is, lips begging for him as they move against hers. Her face as she pulls away, pale and blank except for her wide eyes.

"I love you."

"You just turned 16, Cain. Nobody really falls in love at 16."

"I didn't fall in love at 16. I fell in love at 14 and it took me this long to say it."

"No, you don't. You can't. You don't love me just because you want to kiss me, Cain."

"I love you because you are the only person in the world I have ever or will ever want."

"You're meant to be with a girl like Greengrass, not me. Not your family's charity case."

"I want to be with you, Cass. Please stop looking for a reason to ruin this."

"I don't want to ruin it, it's just…"

"I don't expect you to say it back, if that's what you're worried about."

"You should. You're amazing, Cain. You don't deserve me mucking up your life."

"Even if that's what I want, Cass?"

"The world isn't built on wants."

In his memories, she is leaning in to kiss him again - a consolation prize, an apology - when Rosier realizes what Tom is doing and shoves him out, losing his focus on Nott to turn over and point his wand at Tom instead. The two stare at each other. A smirk on Tom's face that just screams _told you so_. A look on Rosier's that screams _too fucking far_. Everyone else in the room is tense, just watching them without a clue as to what just happened.

Finally, Rosier speaks up, "He stole his family's signet ring. His father didn't think he was worthy of wearing it yet. Is that enough for you, Riddle?"

They both know he isn't really asking about Nott. He's asking about himself. Has Tom invaded his mind enough for one day? Seen what he'd wanted to know all this time?

"More than," Tom answers with a smile.

Rosier wipes the blood from his busted lip off with the back of his hand before going to sit again, not even sparing Nott another look as he scrambles up from the floor. From their expressions, it's not clear who is angrier - Nott at losing, or Rosier at being tricked. Tom finishes off the meeting with a speech about how he expects them all to improve on classes over the next month. He doesn't tell them about the chamber. He doesn't need them to know until he finds it. If he can't, he doesn't want them to know he failed. That might cause them to question his background, which is the last thing he needs.

Tom dismisses them after finishing, then stands to spell the desks and everything back into place. Rosier hangs back while the rest of them file out of the room, leaning back in his chair casually, waiting until Tom is done to speak up.

"I found something you might be interested in over the summer," he calls out.

Tom turns back around to look at him, "And it took you a month to share it with me?"

"The person I bought it from needed a little extra persuading to hand it over. It just arrived from France by owl yesterday," Rosier answers as he takes a book out from his school bag and puts it on the table. Tom sees the title and scoffs. _Magick Moste Evile_.

"That's already in the restricted section. I've read it several times. Nothing interesting and it's outdated."

"Read it one more time. It would appear the copy in the Hogwarts library has had a few key sections removed," Rosier responds nonchalantly. Tom picks it up and flips through it. It does seem significantly more weighty than he is used to. Rosier waits for him to look back up before broaching the subject he has really stayed to talk about, "Why?"

"Just curious."

"About why I haven't been focused on schoolwork recently?"

"Yes, that and other things."

"What other things?"

"Your quasi-girlfriend."

"Leave her alone, Tom."

"She's a very talented little witch, isn't she? Could be useful."

"Good luck convincing her to care about anything other than herself."

"You don't think she cares about you?" Tom asks with a tilt of his head. An implicit threat, and a challenge for the truth.

"It's complicated."

"What's complicated about whoring herself out to you in exchange for the benefits of your influence and affluence? It's a time-honored exchange."

"That's not - she doesn't care about that. If she did, things would be different."

"So if she doesn't care about you, and she doesn't care about money or popularity, what possible explanation is left for why she continues to tolerate your affections after _that_?"

"She cares about me but not enough for it to count," Rosier admits through gritted teeth.

Tom chuckles, "Amazing. She's got you thinking with your prick so much that your brain is no longer functioning at all. Let me guess, you bought her that pretty gold necklace she was wearing today? And the fine embossed notebooks she's always writing in? And maybe she let you kiss her in private in return for your generosity?"

Rosier blushes and looks away, "She's not like that."

"She's using you."

"No, she's not."

"Really, Rosier, you aren't this naive."

"I've known her for all of my life. She's not using me she just…" Rosier trails off, seeming to realize he has said too much. He moves to stand and mutters, "Nevermind."

Tom waves his wand to push him back into his chair and prompts, "Just what?"

Rosier's jaw ticks before he responds, "If you want to even try to get that out of my head, you're going to have to do what you did to Lestrange."

Interesting. What secret of hers does Rosier care enough about keeping that he would risk being subjected to the cruciatus curse rather than simply divulging it voluntarily? Tom judges his expression and decides to let it go. As used as Rosier is to rolling with his punches, he gets the impression this is one punch too far, and he cannot afford to lose his support, especially not over something as petty and inconsequential as her.

Tom does not press further, simply nodding and gesturing to Rosier's bruised face, "Is this going to be a problem? If you need some excuse for the hospital wing - "

"It's fine. I can take care of it myself. Are we done?"

"Yes. Let's get back before the the patrols reach the dungeons," Tom says, standing.

* * *

He is walking the corridors with his prefect badge shining against his chest the next day, warning students to get back to their common rooms quickly as curfew starts in five minutes. He reaches the Ravenclaw common room at the top of their tower, makes a stop by the prefect's bathroom down the hall, then turns back to head down the spiral staircase, looking forward to starting to take points.

Only to be met by a very unwelcome sight at the top of the stairs. Cassandra leaning against the railing, staring him down as he approaches. It would be so easy to push her over and be done with her once and for all. Would the professor's think it was more than an accident, would they bother investigating, he wonders? Then he remembers there are portraits lining the walls and ghosts who fly all over the castle. One never knows who is watching, or what they might say if asked.

"Ten points," Tom calls out as he continues past her and starts his descent. To his dismay, she joins him, steps tracking his. He adds, "If you don't hurry back to the dungeons now, it'll be another ten for every minute you're still in my sight."

"No problem. I'll just stay one step behind you the entire time."

"A word of advice. You don't want to annoy me, Ms. Malecrit."

"Why, you'll dock a hundred next time? I'm sure you've realized by now I don't give a fuck about these made up points, Mr. Riddle."

"Language. You may not care about our house's reputation, but I do. Now run on down to the dungeons before I do something more drastic than docking house points."

"Like clocking me in the jaw like you did to Cain?"

Tom rounds on her, an eyebrow raised, wondering how she knows - he hadn't noticed anything off about him by the time he got to breakfast. He tries for the most confused and innocent expression that he can manage before asking, "Excuse me?"

"I saw you two walk in together last night and then this morning I noticed his jaw is slightly out of place. No doubt he tried all of the healing spells he could and is casting concealing charms over other bruises to cover up for you, but I know what that boy's face looks like."

What kind of complicated is this, Tom wonders? Memorizing someone's face is not something people do with people they don't care about. Standing up for them when they won't do so themselves is not something people do for people they don't care about. It certainly seems like that is a level of care enough to count.

"I did not lay a hand, or a spell, on your boyfriend, Cass."

"Don't call me that. Furthermore, he's not my boyfriend, as I've told you multiple times. He's my friend, and I won't stand for my friends - "

"Yes, your friend who gets to have his own special nickname for you and who you apparently stare at more than could possibly be healthy. Regardless of what you choose to call him, or what I call you, whatever injury you imagine he has suffered was not at my hands, so you can take your indignation elsewhere."

"That's a load of bullocks and we both know it. I just came to say that if you hurt him again, I'll do the same to you."

"I have no interest in hurting your boyfriend, though if you keep bothering me I might develop one."

"If you're really so bothered by a girl doing better than you in classes, then I'll back off. Wouldn't want to shatter that fragile male ego of yours."

"Don't try to protect _your_ fragile ego. I don't need you to back off in order to win. For your information, it was Nott that started the fight. Some silly dispute over quidditch. All I did was break it up. So, as I said, you can take your indignation elsewhere, not that it's deserved. Your source of cash flow isn't in any danger from me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I thought I was perfectly clear. I am implying that the only reason you are - "

"No, we've covered that topic a multitude of times already. That it's not deserved."

Tom chuckles, "Don't pretend you really need an explanation."

"Merlin, are you trying to win this school's biggest prick award?"

"If you can't handle the truth, don't ask for it."

"That's not - you have no clue what you are talking about, and I would appreciate if you would refrain from further speculation."

"I had to endure yours, didn't I?" Tom quips back. They fall into silence again for a few seconds before she speaks up again. He's not sure if she says it because she has bought his lie - only a half-lie, really, to be fair - and feels bad for accusing him, or if she just doesn't have the ability not to talk for a minute. Why the bloody hell is this staircase so long?

"Your work in Transfiguration today was exceptional. I don't know why Dumbledore complimented me and not you. Yours moved much more like a snitch. And my canary looked absolutely sick by the time I changed it back, I'm sure it's dead by now."

Be polite, he reminds himself. Even to her. It's part of his image. He can't have people knowing what he really thinks.

"Thank you," he manages to get out. Then, inexplicably, he adds, "It's your wand movement. Sloppy. You don't go high enough on the last stroke."

"Probably my natural impatience showing. I will take that into account in the future."

"In potions yesterday, how did you get the color - "

"Oh, the book uses twice as much wormwood as you actually need. It interacts too much with the sopophorous bean and turns it more greenish-yellow if you follow that recipe."

"Where did you get the idea to crush the beans instead of cutting them?"

"Again, impatience. They were simply too hard to cut up. Where did you get the idea to add peppermint?"

"To be honest, I couldn't stand the smell as it was."

"Agreed. Who would have thought an elixir to induce euphoria would smell so wholeheartedly… well, un-euphoric."

Another few seconds of silence passes before Tom is the one who can't help but break it by asking the question that's been on his mind since that first week, "Why did you transfer?"

"Hogwarts does not allow parental visits."

"And Beauxbatons does?"

"Of course. How else are young girls supposed to become ladies except through the _loving guidance_ of their parents? My goodness, can you imagine if I didn't know the proper depth for a curtsy or what order to serve canapés in at a party? Disgraceful. Might as well go and live with the trolls."

Tom almost laughs. Almost. To stifle the urge, he lobs an insult instead, "There's a tribe of trolls in the Forbidden Forest. I'm sure they would be more than happy to welcome you."

She actually does laugh, and he almost can't stop himself from laughing in response. Not with her, of course. Just at the fact that she can't tell it's an insult. Thankfully, they reach their destination first.

"Here we are, ground floor. Scurry off to the common room to cuddle up with your friend again and consider it a kindness that I will only be docking fifty house points and assigning one detention as this is your first offense of breaking curfew."

"I consider it a kindness just to escape your company. Good night, Mr. Riddle."

Insolent little witch, he should have just tossed her down the stairs.

* * *

Lestrange, Avery, Rosier, and Mulciber are all in the dorm putting away their things before dinner Wednesday evening. Tom is focusing on organizing his desk while the rest idly chat about something or another. He's not really listening and he doesn't really care.

At least not until Nott comes storming in sporting a bloody nose. Lestrange whistles and jeers, "What happened, got caught snogging some bloke's girlfriend again?"  
"No," Nott says sourly while throwing himself on to his bed and leaning his head back to stop the bleeding. "Rosier told his crush about our brawl the other day and she apparently decided to avenge his honor. Didn't know you needed a girl to stand up for you, Rosier."

Rosier rolls his eyes, "Didn't know you couldn't block a punch from a girl, Nott. For the record, I didn't tell her anything."

"Thought she was luring me in for a kiss," Nott mumbles. "I don't know what they're teaching at Beauxbatons these days, but I'll hand it to her, that girl knows how to throw a punch. Honestly, makes her even fucking hotter."

Avery sighs and gets up from his own bed to walk over to Nott's, leaning over the other boy and starting to mutter healing spells over his nose.

"Give it up, Nott, she's always hated you," Lestrange says. "What was it she said about you at quidditch practice the other day?"

Avery answers the question for him, "I believe it was: Nott's so full of hot air, I'm surprised he doesn't blow away."

Rosier chuckles and says, "Come on, lay off. Since that's the way girls always talk about Nott, I'm sure he doesn't know the difference between flirting and genuine apathy."

Nott sits up, wiping the dried blood from his face with one hand. He glares at the boy in the bed across from his and spits, "What would you know, Rosier? The only girl you've dated is Greengrass last year, and everybody knows she was the one who started that. She must've been devastated when the girl you've really been pining over all these years showed up here and kept you from rebounding back to her again. How long are you going to hold out for her? You know it's hopeless. At this rate you'll stay a virgin until - "

"Shut it, Nott, we aren't all interested in sleeping with slags."

"Should I tell Greengrass you called her a slag?"

"Tell Greengrass what you want. Maybe she'll punch you too."

Lestrange tries to break the tension between them by chiming in with, "Honestly. I'm surprised you could delude yourself into thinking she'd want to kiss you after she ran out of Cain's birthday party when you put yourself down for her next dance, Nott. Unfortunately for you, it seems in this case closeness has made the heart grow colder."

"I wouldn't say it's unfortunate. Everybody knows hate sex is the best kind. Maybe if I get on her nerves more often, enough tension will build up between us that she'll jump my bones next time I punch Rosier."

"Maybe you'll really hit the lottery and she'll use her magic instead," Rosier sneers back as he stands up to head out for dinner. "I once saw her give a bloke a third degree burn just for touching her, so I wouldn't be so eager to get on her bad side if I were you."

The door slams behind him and the room falls into silence for a few seconds before Nott turns to Lestrange and asks, "That true?"

Lestrange stands and shrugs, "Believe it or not, that was one of her more mild reactions. And even if you aren't afraid of what she's going to do to you, you should be afraid of what Cain will if you touch her. Just because he's managed to control himself - unlike you - until now, it doesn't mean he always will be able to. Proceed with caution, if you insist on proceeding."


	3. Like Lightning

Friday comes around and it is time to finally cash in that detention he has been holding onto. He decides to test his theory about her by personally overseeing her time bottling and sorting potions ingredients for Slughorn, a task he has already offerred to do and one he suggests the idea of her helping with to the professor.

As curfew nears and they are nearly done with their work, he waits in the potions cupboard until she enters it. Taking advantage of the narrow space, he corners her while she is putting away some bottles, sticking his arms out against the shelves to block her from leaving. She turns back to him. They are face-to-face, nearly touching. The closest they have ever been. He can feel her breath against his neck as she glares up at him, eyes sparkling as she tries to figure out what he is up to.

A few seconds pass like this before she begins to say, "Don't even think - "

He leans forward and kisses her, his hands falling from the shelf to her waist as he closes the distance between them. It is a classic disarming mechanism, one he has used on many of his female admirers since third year to convince them to do things for his plots. He knows he is handsome, even more so than her little lapdog, and good at this. He's never met a witch who didn't react well to him, so more than likely her practiced disdain is just a disguised crush. If she's just like every other girl he's ever known - as he suspects she is - she should be melting into his arms right now.

But none of them have ever felt like this in his arms before. Like electricity is running through him. Like he will suffocate if he does not keep their lips connected. Like his fingers will freeze if they do not continue to grasp at the warmth of her skin.

Only seconds pass before her hands meet his chest and shove him away. Or try to, at least. His fingers snap around her wrists, pulling her arms back against the shelves behind her as he continues to press forward, trying to devour her. He can feel her skin warming up but pays it no head. Can feel her magic pushing against him and just uses his own to push back. There is no way he is giving this up. He feels like he is starving and the only thing that will sate him is the taste of her. This must be what a snake feels like when he has caught a mouse.

She bites his tongue and he drops away, surprised by the sudden pain.

"Don't touch me again," she snarls, wiping her lips with her hand before trying to leave. Devilish little witch, still playing hard to get despite the flush of her skin and the fact that she had kissed back. He grabs her arm and twists it behind her, pulling her against him.

"Don't pretend you didn't like that," he hisses in her ear.

His other hand moves to her neck, sweeping her hair down and away from her skin before wrapping around her waist to keep her locked against him. He leans his head down to run his lips along her throat, feeling her pulse speed up beneath them. When he reaches the base of her jaw, he opens his mouth to clamp down, teeth scrapping and tongue swirling. She arches up against him, trying to twist away, but not hard enough that he's convinced it wasn't just a ploy to cover up her actual reaction.

"Or that you don't like this," he adds upon raising his mouth from her skin, though he doesn't linger before returning to it.

"I don't like _you_ ," she snaps, her other hand reaching up to try to claw at his forearm around her. "Let go before I have to make you."

"Do you react like this when he kisses you?" Tom teases, pushing her hand under his, intwining their fingers together, and gripping hard enough that she cannot separate them.

"No, because he's not a prat like you are," she growls, realizing too late what she's said is an involuntary admission. "What I mean is - "

His hand leads hers down her abdomen and between her legs. She gaps at the contact, stopping in the middle of her sentence. Her skirt is in the way, but he can still feel the heat between them. He chuckles, "Good to know."

"I didn't mean - "

"I've seen inside his memories, you know. Shame, it could have made for a wonderful story to tell at your wedding if you'd said yes," he whispers in her ear. She blushes at the mention. At the fact that he knows. He hisses, "Say yes to me, Cassandra."

An airy laugh escapes her before she sneers, "So I can be a trophy on your arm for a few days while you gloat and grow bored? No, thank you. Let go before I scream. I am fairly sure Slughorn is still in his office, and I'd dare say assault is an offense for which he would remove your badge."

This is _impossible_. No witch can resist him. She must be playing at something - and if it's actually caring at all about Rosier's feelings, that ship has already sailed.

He lets go and returns to his dorm, purposefully forgetting to wipe off her lipstick from his lips, purposefully walking close enough to Rosier's bed on his way to his own that the fucker can see it and smell her perfume on him.

* * *

Over the next few days, he gets precious little chance to explore what she is up to. For the first time since school started, she doesn't appear to be around every corner, constantly grating on his nerves with her preening and prattling. In fact, she seems to be nowhere at all, except for classes. Not in the common room or the library or even at meals all week.

It is at the quidditch game that she does it, and he knows she does it on purpose.

The Slytherin team wins, of course. They always win, ever since Rosier became captain in third year. As usual, the crowd of Slytherin supporters gather around the changing rooms and wait for the team to emerge so they can start to celebrate the victory on the way back to the castle. Tom is passing by as they start to come out, having just finished a conversation with Professor Merrythought outside the pitch.

He slows his steps when he sees her. Watching, as always, to see what trouble she's going to cause him today.

Rosier comes out last. The fact that she throws her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug, letting him lift her off the ground for a second as they exchange barbs and laughs, is no surprise. The fact that, the second her feet touch the ground again, she leans up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips is.

He reacts by pulling her against him, the kiss quickly growing scandalous as it deepens and his hands start to wander. There are a few whistles and hoots from the crowd before the two of them finally separate, both catching their breath and smiling wildly.

Tom is glaring at them at the front of the crowd when they step away from each other to start walking back to the castle, Rosier's arm still around her waist.

"Detention, Ms. Malecrit, for such an inappropriate display," he chides before turning on his heel and storming out in front.

"Everyone else seemed to enjoy it, Riddle. Perhaps you could use a snog yourself to loosen up," she calls after him, drawing snickers from the crowd. Rosier, he notes, doesn't laugh.

He hears later that they are dating. Specifically, he overhears some girls gushing about it during the victory party in the common room. Yes, officially. Since the Saturday before, supposedly. He'd asked her on the pitch after practice that morning. The day immediately after their detention. Their kiss.

Moreover, he's given her a promise ring. A green turquoise set in a simple silver band she wears on her right hand. Her birthstone, he learns. December, just like his. Even Avery and Selwyn haven't gotten that far yet, and they've been dating since third year.

So, six weeks was all it took for her to reveal she really is just like other girls.

* * *

Slughorn denies the detention he puts in for her, saying they were just being teenagers and he is sure they have already learned their lesson. This is a bald-faced lie and they both know it. All week, they have been nearly inseparable in public. Cain joins her in the library, the first time Tom has actually seen him study for any significant duration of time this year. They sit in the common room whispering to each other, with her frequently in his lap and his lips frequently wandering down her neck. It is enough to make Tom want to throw up, and more than any other couple at Hogwarts would ever get away with.

Not just get away with, in fact, because right after Slughorn denies the detention he gives Tom another surprise. His fellow prefect, Orpington, is leaving her post to focus on classes. Tom rolls his eyes at this polite way of wording it - he had heard one of the professors had caught on to the fact that she was submitting her older brother's essays with slight changes and claiming them as her own work for several years now. He had figured discipline was coming. However, it had not occurred to him that another prefect would need to be chosen to fill her place.

Ms. Malecrit would do nicely, Slughorn says. She has already asked him about independent study and impressed him with her work during class. He has heard similar reviews from the other professors. Other than the small violations that caused Tom to give her those two detentions, there have been no complaints.

Anyway, most of the good pureblood girls in their year are already focused on marriage, not matriculation, and would turn down the post as an unnecessary burden on the time they could be spending chasing future husbands instead. Tom wonders if Slughorn is only giving her the post because the professor is already sure who her future husband will be.

Then he wonders if Cain will drag himself along on patrols too.

* * *

Cain confronts him in the dorm the next day, the other boys lingering in the great hall after dinner so they can have this little conversation. He is standing at the foot of his bed, eyes narrowed and arms crossed, as he asks as soon as Tom arrives, "Was it you that got her named as prefect?"

Tom rolls his eyes as he removes his robe, carefully folding it and leaving it on top of his trunk to wear again the next day as he says, "Trust me, I was adamantly opposed to the idea. I don't need to be doing patrols with somebody who barely knows how to navigate the hallways of the school herself. I suspect I will be spending half the time tracking her down when she inevitably gets lost just like all the little first years do."

Cain has known him long enough not to fall for this little diversion, instead pushing, "Then why didn't you convince Slughorn to choose someone else?"

"I tried," Tom answers. Lies. He hadn't. "Unfortunately, it seems your little witch has him quite enamored."

"And you?"

"What?"

"Does she have you enamored?"

"Enamored?" Tom says with a chuckle, "More like annoyed."

"So you won't try to kiss her again?" Cain asks, tone steady, though his fingers flexing into fists at his side give his true feelings away.

"Cain, you know I don't just _try_ things," Tom says, turning to him with a smirk.

"Tom, she's my girlfriend."

"Right. Just another one of her many inventive ways of annoying me."

"It's not - she wanted to date me. She loves me."

This time it is a full out laugh, high and bitter, "Apparently, I've gotten to know her better in a month than you have in years and years. She's just using you."

"No, she's not."

"Fine, I'll prove it to you."

"Tom, I'm serious. Stop."

"Consider it a favor."

"It's one I don't want."

"So you just want to hold onto the delusion that she loves you forever? Or at least until she takes the money and runs?"

"She wouldn't - "

"Why else would she want you?"

Cain dares to laugh. It seems spontaneous, because he does not dare to specify why. Still, Tom can see it on his face, hidden behind the fear and silence that follows. The smug smile, the condescending tone. _You're just mad she doesn't want you._

Tom picks up his book bag, turns on his heel and walks out, calling back, "I didn't just try to kiss her, by the way. And she didn't just try to kiss me back."

* * *

He heads for the library. How convenient that now he knows Cain is otherwise occupied, down in the dormitories no doubt still fuming. For good measure, he makes a stop in the Great Hall first, telling the rest of them that they can go to the room now. Advising them with a smirk that they should probably make sure Cain stays in it, in case his anger gets the better of him and he gets himself into some kind of trouble. He does not specify whether he means with the school or with him.

She had skipped dinner, and he wonders if he will find her there, trying to catch up on her studies while her shadow is not around to distract her. He smirks when he hears the scratching of her quill from down the row, confirming his suspicions. A few steps out of the stacks bring him up to her table, and suddenly he is pulling his supplies out of his bookbag like it is the most natural thing in the world for him to sit with her. Like he belongs here, in the chair across from her that Cain usually takes.

The briefest glance up through her eyelashes - not even at him, at his journal laying on the table to scan his name - before she mumbles, "What are you doing here?"

He smirks as his long fingers run across the gold embossing, waiting for her gaze to follow their movements up his arm to his face. Instead, her eyes drop back to the book laid out in front of her. He cannot help a sneer when he sees her handwriting in the margins of it. So messy. Basically unrecognizable letters looped around each other, every other word abbreviated as if her notes aren't already hard enough to read.

The chair scrapes as he pulls it out, an ugly noise she grimaces at. He pulls a tad more than really necessary before sitting down and answering as he opens his own book, his tone flat and uninterested, "My work."

The tone of her voice makes it seem like she's repeating herself for the hundredth time, annoyed and aloof, "I thought I already told you this was my table."

He answers without breaking his gaze on her, even though he could easily find something more worthwhile to look at. He can tell it is making her uncomfortable, the feeling of his eyes drinking her in as he says, "We didn't finish the conversation we were having at it last time."

"And we won't, since apparently you came here to work," she responds, hand still moving across the parchment in front of her as she transforms her messy notes into an essay that will no doubt win her top marks.

Tom prods, "But I am so eager to hear what your heart desires. And how good exactly Cain Rosier is at fulfilling those desires."

She finally looks up, a smirk plastered in her face, her eyes dancing with mischief, "Oh, I am sure you do _not_ want to hear about that, Mr. Riddle. Unless perhaps he was the one you were hoping would ask you to Hogsmeade?"

He smirks back, refusing to let her win, "Close, Ms. Malecrit."

"Lestrange then? Well, you might have better luck."

"I believe I have already proven to you that is not where my interests lie."

"I believe you have already proven to me what a prick you are. Multiple times."

"Now I am very curious to know how familiar you are with pricks, Cassandra."

Instead of blushing as he expects, she just snaps, "Don't call me that."

"Why not, Cassandra?" he teases, his eyes flaring as they meet hers. _Protest all you would like, little witch, but it won't change a thing._

"Manners. We are not nearly familiar enough with each other to be on a first name basis. It's ungentlemanlike, Mr. Riddle."

He leans forward into her, their noses nearly meeting, his voice a whisper as if they are conspiring about something, "Ah, you see, unlike your darling Cain, I am not a gentlemen."

The lift of an eyebrow, the hint of a laugh, and her lithe voice, "That much I could tell."

Would she have time to scream before he silenced her if he conjured ropes to tie her to that chair? Would the librarian come if he heard the thud of it falling backwards and cracking apart? Would she start crying when he was over her, his wand lifted and a threat in his eyes?

He shakes the images out of his head as he pulls away, crossing his arms in front of him to control himself. He changes the subject, "We should decide on a place to meet for patrols."

Her eyes dart back to her book and she mumbles into it, "That won't be necessary."

"Wonderful, so you'll find me then?" he asks sarcastically.

"I will be doing patrols with the Hufflepuff girl in our year. I am sure the Hufflepuff boy would be more than happy to discuss the logistics of your patrols, though. I saw him go over to the herbology section earlier. He's probably still there if you are tired of me and would like to bother someone else."

"I don't think bothering someone else would be nearly as enjoyable, Cassandra," he answers. _This_ is what she blushes at. Really? He tears his eyes away from her cheeks and goes back to antagonizing her. "What's wrong, does your boyfriend not trust you around other men? Or is it just around me?"

"My father prefers that I limit my private interactions with those of the male species," she answers, deadpan. The briefest flicker of her eyes to his and then she is shutting her book, fingers pressing together the covers gently. Controlled, practiced, not even making a sound.

She reaches for her bag and he realizes she means to end this conversation, so he pulls her attention back by saying in a menacing tone, "So he does not know about your interactions with our quidditch captain then?"

Her eyes on him again and this time they linger, watching him just long enough to see his jaw clench. She looks down again as she shoves the book into her bag. If he could see her face past the curtain of hair hanging in front of it, he knows her own jaw would be clenched as she responds, "He does."

"Let me amend your statement then," he says. There is more anger in his tone than he would like to let slip. He is supposed to be charming her, not insulting her. Yet, since she has managed to get a rise out of him with every word, he cannot hold back his next quip, "Your father prefers you limit your private interactions with those of the male species who do not have a trust fund."

Eyes as wide as an owl for just a second, and he thinks he has offended her with the implication or embarrassed her by catching her in the act. Eyes as wide as an owl not looking at him. Still looking at her bag as she carefully stacks her parchment rolls and quills inside it. He snatches the self-inking one she was using earlier straight from under her fingertips before she has the chance to put it away, looking down at his own parchment as he starts to write his name out at the top of the essay he will be working on. _Look at me_ , he orders in his head.

A shuffle and the scraping of a chair. Mary Janes clicking away.

He wonders if letting him keep it is a way of rubbing it in his face. Like he needs free quills. Like he cannot afford them himself. Well, he can't, but doesn't mean he doesn't already have more than enough at his disposal. He doesn't need her to give him a free one. Especially one like this, which he can tell is expensive by how smoothly it flows across the paper, the ink never skipping, and how soft the feather at the top is when his fingers brush against it. One she most likely hand't even paid for herself.

He stands, storming after her, following the clicking until he is close enough to reach out and lock his fingers around her bicep. He pulls her back, then pushes her toward one of the bookshelves, the volumes in it rattling slightly as her back crashes against the wood. Her breath speeds up and her eyes narrow. It takes a second for him to place the look on her face. Fear, masked as anger. If they were not so far back in the library, tucked away from prying eyes, somebody may have called for help by now.

He leans toward her, dropping the quill back into her bag and hissing, "I don't need this."

A curious look flashes across her face before she finally puts the pieces together and blurts out, "You don't have any money either."

Her tone is soft. It is not what he expected and he is stuck between the urge to stumble back and the urge to press closer. He thought she'd already known that, but…

Cain hasn't told her. No one has told her. Good, because he does not like it getting around. Still, it has been a long time since it had, and he does not remember the last time he met someone who didn't know, so he had assumed she did. Had assumed that was why she'd brushed him off so easily, so quickly.

She really does hate _him_ then. Not the orphan. Not the half-blood. Not the poor boy raised in the muggle world. Him.

"Come sit back down," he finds himself ordering. He feels like that voice is not himself, like he is removed somehow from this situation. From her shaky breathes on his neck and the way her body seems to shrink every time his own lungs expand toward her.

She does not answer. He looks down at her lips, locked tightly together, still. She sees where he is looking and he sees she is holding her wand in her hand, knuckles turning white from the tight grip.

"I saw you were working on the Charms practice OWL questions," he explains before she can curse him. Invents. He knows that is not the reason he asked her to stay. Ordered her to stay. "I finished them yesterday. We can compare."

Another minute of silence. Is she ever going to open her mouth?

"Cassandra, put away your wand," he says, an unnatural calm filling his tone. "Trust me, you do not want to duel me at all. Much less so in a crowded place where we will both get in trouble for it. Put it away and follow me back."

"I have plans," she says, voice rushing out of her in a near-whisper, tone harsh.

"I understand our relationship started out on the wrong foot, but we could be very useful to each other, Cassandra," he tries to persuade. No longer playing games, just putting what he needs from her out there. In a way, at least. "I know you've been having trouble trying to keep up with everything alone. Adjusting, studying, socializing, sleeping. I can help. Tell you how the professors like things. Show you where to find the right reference material. Provide you with excuses to leave conversations or social gatherings as needed."

He does not touch on her last struggle. He imagines her laying against his chest, eyes drifting closed as he teaches her something. He blinks the image away. He is only doing this to prove something to Cain. Anyway, she's bright. Maybe she can be useful to him in the future.

As if she is reading his mind, she snarls, "And what would you expect me to do in return, Tom?"

A twitch inside him at his name falling from her lips. His clothes suddenly feel tighter. The room suddenly feels hotter. He almost blurts out the thought that comes into his head without thinking. _Sit in my lap in the common room while I make you moan my name loudly enough for him to hear it on the Quidditch fields._

Wide eyes staring into his again. Does she know legilimency?

He pushes away the thought and throws up a wall to block her out. Rudimentary, but if it was sufficient for Dumbledore, it would no doubt do for her.

She looks away and mutters, "No, thank you. To be perfectly clear - again - I am not interested in any type of relationship with you, Mr. Riddle. Now, if you would please…"

She does. That dirty little witch, calling him by his filthy father's name, playing tricks on him. Had she been looking into him like this when she'd asked him what he wanted? Had the conversation been finished for her as soon as she'd finished holding his stare? Is that why she does not look at him?

She tries to leave. Her hair brushes his arm as she turns to see his arms blocking her sides. Her fingers on his chest, just above his hip, pushing him away. But he must be stronger than he looks or she is being gentler than she should be, because he does not budge. Her fingers like lightning bolts, the electricity radiating out from them and over the rest of him, all he can think about and he wants more.

He drops his right arm down so he can grab her hand with his, can lead it up and down and _everywhere_. A moment of weakness that she quickly takes advantage of, bolting to the side as soon as she can, twisting her hand out of his hold and practically running down the rest of the aisle. He stands with his hand in the air until she turns the corner and then collapses back against the shelf, a sigh leaving his lips, his own hand slipping down to solve the problem she's created.

Merlin, what is she doing to him?

He has to find more advanced methods of occlumency. Fast. Before she touches him again and this wall comes crashing down and she sees all the things he wants to do. To the world. To her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adult Tom Riddle in The Untold Years takes 10 chapters and nearly 100,000 words to finally kiss her. Hormone-ridden teenage Tom Riddle takes just over two chapters and under 10,000 words to do it. I just think that dichotomy is hilarious. As always, would love to hear your thoughts! Seriously, I'm in law school, the rest of my life is straight up depressing, fanfiction is the only thing I enjoy so please share your enjoyment with me so I can remember there's joy in the world and it's not all just a burning hell pit these days.


	4. The Devil's Bargain

"So Lestrange, what exactly do you reckon Rosier will do to me if I have a turn? I swear her skirt is shorter today. I need to do a pro-con analysis on how to proceed," Nott mutters, still chewing half a piece of toast as he stares shamelessly at her.

Cain and Cassandra are down the table today, sitting with his sister, laughing with her as if they have all known each other forever. As if she is already part of their family. Since that day in the library, it seems they always have someone else to sit with. Just making a show of cultivating her popularity, Cain had explained when Avery had asked why he wasn't sitting with them anymore. Tom suspects they are really just trying to keep their distance from him.

Avery thumps Nott on the shoulder, drawing a yelp, before chiding, "Learn to respect other people's relationships, Nott. You might have a different girl on rotation every night, but he's serious about her."

"Oi, I could be serious about her too! I'd do the respectable thing and wait until after he's done, but we all know that's going to be never so… have to take what chances I can."

"My guess - he'll knock you off your broom during the next practice if he knows you were looking at the length of her skirt. I won't elaborate on what he'd do if you get any further, since the chance of that happening is zero," Lestrange drawls. "Should we start a pool? If we get everyone's bets in by the end of classes, I can tell him about this conversation over dinner. Though maybe it's best for you if I wait until breakfast tomorrow. Less time to plan."

"Only if the pool also includes when they will break up. It will be helpful to get a general consensus. Make my planning more accurate."

"What planning?" Mulciber asks, his eagerness to learn beaming through his voice. By far, he is the one with the least experience at the table. Even counting Tom.

"You know, the whole shoulder to cry on bit," Nott says, as if it's obvious.

This is fine, Tom tells himself. Most definitely fine. Just another Monday morning. Just another girl. Nott will move on to his next flavor of the month soon enough. He'll find somebody he actually stands a chance with to take his mind off her and stop babbling such gibberish at the breakfast table - will probably stop showing up to meals at all in favor of snogging while the prefects are otherwise occupied, a change which Tom cannot wait for. All this talking is very distracting, and he is trying to double check his Transfiguration assignment. No doubt that flamboyant fool will try his best to find something to knock off points for.

At Mulciber's confused expression, Nott expounds, "Acting consoling and being there to be the rebound. I'm so sorry, he's a git, blah blah blah until I slip in the 'I can think of something to make you feel better' line and slip down to taste her. Fuck, I bet she's sweet."

Mulciber swallows his orange juice, eyes bulging out at this idea, "Taste - "

Nott chuckles and waves a hand at him dismissively, "Advanced technique, mate. Don't worry about it. You've got to learn how to get a girl off the normal way first."

Tom's mind swims with an image of her sitting at her usual table in the library, trying to write out an essay, her pen jumping every time he laps at her under it. Tallying the house points he plans to deduct for every noise she makes with his fingers against her thighs as his hands hold them open. Waiting until she says his name to let her finish, pushing his fingers inside of her and feeling it as she does. He has to lower his left hand to the bench and grip the edge, knuckles white, to bring himself back to reality.

Being a teenage boy is really more trouble than it's worth.

He hears her voice to his right and resists turning his head, keeping his eyes locked on his parchment. She is saying goodbye to her meal companions. She is kissing Cain on the cheek and promising to see him later. She is scooping up her books from the table and heading down to the dungeons to check on her individual research projects before double potions class.

It's not her usual table anymore, Tom remembers. She's moved somewhere more visible. Somewhere smaller, where there is only room for her and Cain, and where she does not go without him anymore. It seems she does not go anywhere without him anymore. He's heard from that Hufflepuff that he even walks her to patrols. Not back though, of course. That would be a violation of the rules. Her protecter, he thinks, sneering. _As if he could stop me, little witch._

Tom emerges from his thoughts to focus on putting his own supplies away. Nott is still talking somehow, "I did get a few dances in once at one of their balls, you know. She's very graceful with her movements. That'll come in handy later."

Avery chuckles and points out, "Honestly, she doesn't seem like the type of girl that would share your tastes in that area."

"Are you kidding? She'll love it. I can tell. The only way she'll really get off is with someone who'll get rough with her. Tell her what to do. That's what they're always like, the princess types and the bossy types, and she's both so - "

Lestrange cuts him off, "So can we start the pool now? I'm moving up to betting that within about an hour of me telling him how much you have apparently thought about her, he'll have broken two of your ribs and given you a few nice big permanent scars. Perhaps he'll even use a spell from our special lessons, hmm, Riddle?"

Maybe he'll use a spell from their special lessons on both of them.

"Stop this petty bickering," Tom scolds. "She is not worth creating divisions over. Nott, you will refrain from thinking of or speaking about such things until she is actually available. The rest of you would do well to forget this conversion ever happened, and to avoid having similar ones in the future."

Nott jokes, not realizing how unwise it is in this situation, "Merlin, Riddle, I'm only human. How am I supposed to look at her legs in that skirt and not think about what they would feel like around my - "

"Refrain from looking too then," Tom says authoritatively, making it clear there is no room for negotiation. He catches an odd look from Lestrange as he stands but shrugs it off and simply turns toward the doors, already planning what he will do once he reaches the potions classroom. Twenty minutes or so before the earliest students will start coming in to set up their cauldrons. So much time to be alone with her.

Only to be interrupted by Cain. Not as stupid as he looks after all, it appears. He waves him down before he can pass and says, "Tom, Druella was wondering if you might be able to tutor her and a few of the other second years in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They are paired with some rather competitive Gryffindors for it, and it would be a shame if the house looked bad, wouldn't it?"

Tom forces a kind smile, looking at the young girl's eager face instead of at the prick he so badly wants to curse, "Of course. As a prefect, it is my duty to do everything in my power to ensure Slytherin's victory in the house cup and help guide the learning of the younger pupils."

Cain smiles. He says, "Wonderful. Merrythought has already agreed to provide the classroom on Saturday mornings from nine to noon. Would you like Druella to draw you up a list of the expected attendees for reference?"

Saturday mornings. Quidditch mornings. The only significant amount of time during which she is alone. During which the chair beside her is empty. No, Cain is definitely not as daft as he seems. He knows Tom is always eager to show off his DADA skills, after all.

Tom's hand trembles for his wand. He hides it in his pocket before asking, "How many pupils are expected to need tutoring, Ms. Rosier?"

The young girl blushes at the title, at him speaking directly to her. She manages to stutter out, "Probably about 15. Maybe 20."

"Well, for such a hands-on class, that is a bit much for one tutor to handle," he points out, feigning concern. He can handle it. _Of course_ he can handle it. Nonetheless, he pretends to have an idea. "I know. Perhaps I can ask my fellow prefect to help."

Druella blooms an even bigger blush, and Tom wonders if she is in on it as she manages to press, "Then again, a lot of students may prefer to sleep in on a Saturday… I don't want to bother Cassandra for nothing."

He grins, already imagining it. All the reasons dueling will give him to get close to her. The way he will hold her wrist as he instructs her on a wand movement, causing her to blush at the embarrassment of being corrected in front of all of the younger students. Maybe there are even things she can teach him, excuses he can make to get her to touch him. Ways to satisfy his curiosity and these carnal urges so he can get them out of the way and focus on more important matters instead.

"I am sure it will be no bother. It is part of the job, after all," he responds in the most calm and reassuring tone he can muster.

"Thank you, Tom," Cain says, his smile straining for only the briefest second at the failure of his plan. He moves to stand, "You're heading to potions? I'll walk with you. I have to ask Slughorn about moving the next assignment around. With the next match coming up so soon, I would like to make sure I have the proper amount of time to dedicate to it."

He holds back a scowl. Touché. He'd foiled Cain's plan so now it's time for Cain to foil his. The wheels turn in his head until he finally comes up with something, "Actually, I just remembered I have to speak to Greengrass about our herbology project. I will be down shortly."

* * *

When he does make it to the potions classroom ten minutes later, the main room is still empty except for Slughorn and Cain, the later discussing invitations to some war relief event his mother is throwing and dropping the names of several ministry officials who will be in attendance as he tries to reel in the professor before the ask. Tom looks over at the desks and sees her cauldron is set up, but her station is empty.

Then he notes the door to the ingredients cupboard is open. Perfect.

She is facing away from it when he enters, slipping in quietly. Wondering if he can slip the door closed behind him. No, that would be too suspicious. She'd hear it and get her guard up. He'd hear it and come to rescue her. Instead, he walks forward. Quiet, measured steps. The kind of steps he used to use to sneak down to the orphanage kitchen to steal food in the middle of the night. It is only when he places his hand on her hip that she becomes aware of his presence. She does not jump, just freezes, as if moving her body even an inch will give him some satisfaction she does not want him to have. And it will, he knows. He knows that if she jumps he will keep his hand in place, feel her skin sliding under it, skim his fingers over every inch within his reach.

"I missed you at breakfast this morning, Cassandra," he hisses, voice husky.

"I miss eating at breakfast tables that don't feature you," she snaps back, staring down at the shelves, half-closing her eyes. She does not want to look at him, he realizes. "If I had known that was what was awaiting me at Hogwarts, I probably would have chosen not to transfer."

"I do think we would have both preferred that," he hums, head tilting down toward her ear. "But you are here now, so perhaps we should make the best of it."

She does not give him the satisfaction of responding to his taunt, instead continuing with her task in silence. Set on ignoring him even as he moves ever closer, even as his fingers flex against her hip. The stale air around them is uncomfortable.

He looks down at her. Her skirt _is_ shorter today. The hem has been mended. He recognizes the minute, tell-tale signs the spell leaves on the fabric, though he would never have noticed if he wasn't this close to her and looking for them. As if the original suffered a tear or simply wasn't quite the right length. The skirt looks better on her than usual, more suited to her figure, so he guesses it was the later. Second-hand, like his robes. Was she too embarrassed to ask Rosier to buy her new ones, or had she refused them like he did most of the prince's gifts?

She reaches her arm up to another ingredient bottle, pulling it down and adding it to the other four already on the little tray balanced in her other hand. The rest of her remains still. Suddenly her face scrunches and she bites her lip while her fingers run over the labels on the top, seemingly trying to remember what she is missing.

He wants to eat her for breakfast.

"It's Syrup of Hellebore," he tells her. His unoccupied hand reaches for the spot on the shelf he knows it is in, not even looking as he pulls a vial. He dangles it in front of her, teasing her with his victory, as he says, "Here."

She tries to reach for it and he pulls it back, hoping to surprise her into looking. The trick does not work. She remains facing forward and growls, "If you aren't going to give it to me at least move so I can find it myself."

"Not sure why I would do that. See, there's only this and another two fresh bottles left. It would make much more sense for me to take them all for myself and leave you the light blue ones, the ones that are almost rancid. My potion will be sure to impress then."

She rolls her eyes before asking in an exasperated tone, "What do you want, Mr. Riddle?"

He thinks about everything he could ask for. A kiss. Too short, too many ways to wiggle out of making it count. For her to let him touch her like this - more than this - for at least the next several minutes, at least until another student interrupts. For her to turn around and touch him, put her hands on his shoulders and meet his eyes. But those are all very short term, and he needs to play the long game. It is obvious Cain already is.

She is talented and charming, when she wants to be. She is a pureblood and popular. She is someone people won't suspect. Someone people will always underestimate simply by virtue of her gender. Tom knows the value of being underestimated, and he can take advantage of what he recognizes as her resulting drive to prove herself. If he could manage to turn her into an ally instead of a competitor, she could be useful to him in a number of way. Another toy soldier to add to his collection. A sparkling accessory on his arm to get the attention of all the right people. A worthy little plaything to satisfy his appetite. After all, every lord needs a lady.

Really, he shouldn't even be touching her right now. Every time he does, it just causes her to raise her guard even higher. Too bad all rational thought seems to fly from his head when, at his silence, she moves to finally look back at him. He feels the curve of her hip bone shift under his fingers and grips harder instead of letting go.

"Study with me. In the library, Tuesdays and Thursdays, three hours each, from right after classes to dinner," he offers, keeping his request simple. Neutral. All he is asking for is her time. It will be up to her how they actually spend it.

She laughs, short but real, before saying, "Endless weeks of torture or one bad marks in potions? Wow, what a difficult choice."

"Fine, not endless weeks. Eight. We'll start with eight and see how things go."

"So basically the entire rest of first term? Might as well be endless. I may be willing to - "

"No negotiations, Ms. Malecrit. I am not willing to settle for any less than what I have already offerred you. Do you want the syrup or not?"

"If those are the terms, not. I'm sure I can recover from one bad mark and still outscore you handily in this class. Now, if you would please move aside - "

"Perhaps you'll bounce back on the books, but not in Slughorn's mind. What will he think of you if you cannot brew a simple Draught of Peace?" Tom presses. "And with a partner to help no less. Surely he will not trust you to do your little projects by yourself after that."

He can see her thinking, cogs turning. Playing with the idea and then rejecting it. Having second thoughts and coming back to it. Her hips twitch forward away from his hand and she makes a move to try to turn in the narrow space despite the fact that she has to brush against him to do so. Trying to escape, since she's realized it is futile to say no and ask him to let her go politely again. He's going to keep her here until she agrees, even if other people start walking in.

He reaches for her again and guides her around, bringing them face to face, holding her in place for another second so he can goad her to change her mind, "Come now, Cassandra, what are you so afraid of?"

_You._

She looks up at him and he can read it in her eyes.

_You, Tom Riddle, are the wrong kind of trouble._

Whether she's sending the message to him on purpose or accident he does not know. Either way, she eventually just nods to signal her agreement. He steps back to create space between them, holding out the vial for her to take. She grabs it, their fingers brushing.

One day, he will have to figure out what these independent study projects of hers are that they are worth, in her mind, torturing herself over.

He turns to leave, parting with some extra information he has purposefully been waiting to reveal, "Also, we are tutoring the second years in Defense on Saturdays. Nine to noon in the DADA classroom. Be there. It is part of your prefect duties."

It's not, technically, but would she dare question if it is to Slughorn? Not that it matters. Even if she does, he knows he can convince the professor to make it mandatory.

He grabs the other two good vials of syrup on his way out. She will be needing an extra.

A few people titter about the classroom now, starting their flames and chatting to each other. He realizes only a couple of minutes have passed since he entered the cupboard. Merlin, it feels like its been _hours_. Hours of her skin burning his fingers, her smell circulating in his lungs. Slughorn smiles at him and he smiles back while walking to his station. The professor's eyebrows raise when he sees who walks out of the cupboard next. He looks back over at Tom with a wry smirk on his face, and Tom knows there will be a playful admonishment about this from him later. He gets to work setting up his station.

When he finishes, she is in front of him again, only now he knows this is not _her_. It is someone she plays at being, someone different. Someone happy and carefree and confident. Someone that belongs in Cain Rosier's arms. A well-behaved pureblood witch who knows all the right manners and all the right words. Who laughs at all the right times, as she's doing now as he wraps an arm around her, whispering something in her ear. He wonders if they are things like Nott whispers and finds his wand in his hand. He tucks it back in to his robe, reminding himself that this little problem will be dealt with soon enough.

After all, how could any witch possibility want Cain Rosier when they can have him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An an FYI, this story won't be on an update schedule. I plan to post as I write. I also plan to keep chapters on the shorter side (about this length). Currently, there are two more chapters already written up to follow this one, which I'll probably post two or three days apart - unless anyone wants to beta read them for me so the editing goes faster. After that, it might be a few more weeks for another update due to personal life and my general writing style.
> 
> If you have a second, please leave a comment :) It would mean the world to me. Thank you for reading.


	5. Whispering Campaign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be doing theme songs for every chapter on this story, but this one is a particularly good fit so I'll suggest it if you want something to listen to while reading: (You're The) Devil in Disguise by Elvis Presley.

Slughorn is on the other side of the classroom helping a Hufflepuff with his potion when Greengrass starts. Tom hears the whispers rising, traveling along the rows behind him until a note in the form of a little paper bird whizzes quickly past him and lands next to her cauldron. She looks around for the culprit, but everybody is already focused on their work again. She furrows her eyebrows and turns back to her cauldron while pulling the bird open. Tom can see the writing scrawled across it in large font over her shoulder.

_Poor little princess Cassandra. Or should I say Cinderella? What a cute pet name._

She crumples up the paper and drops it to the ground. He sees it light aflame for a brief second before she stomps it out and kicks it to the corner. Cain gives her a curious look as she turns back. Instead of explaining, she picks up the stirring stick and remedies the fact that their potion has already started to bubble over from her lack of attention.

About ten minutes pass until another note arrives. Another confused look around the room before she opens it again and reads: _Cinderella, dressed in silver_.

She rolls her eyes and puts it back on the table. Clearly not as offended as last time. Clearly not getting the joke yet. They start coming faster, just a few minutes between each round, fellow Slytherins distracting Slughorn for each other so they can send them her way.

_Cinderella, dressed in silver_.

_Cinderella, dressed in silver, went to the common room to kiss her mister._

Each time she looks up for a while longer, clearly trying to figure out who is sending them. Each time, her potion bubbles over a little bit more.

_Cinderella, dressed in silver_.

_Cinderella, dressed in silver, went to the common room to kiss her mister._

_Cinderella, dressed in silver, went to the common room to kiss her mister. Made a mistake._

She grows increasingly frustrated, even scolding Cain for not stirring fast enough. Then for stirring too fast. Then for stirring at all when it's supposed to be simmering. Tom has to hold back a laugh at that. His own potion is turning out nicely, unlike their gooey mess.

_Cinderella, dressed in silver_.

_Cinderella, dressed in silver, went to the common room to kiss her mister._

_Cinderella, dressed in silver, went to the common room to kiss her mister. Made a mistake._

Finally, he hears her gasp and looks up. It appears she's gotten the joke now that the nursery rhyme is complete. He does not need to read over her shoulder to know what it says.

_Cinderella, dressed in silver, went to the common room to kiss her mister. Made a mistake, and kissed a snake._

She looks back to shoot a glare at him. He can practically feel the thoughts rushing through her head. She's wondering if he told someone. If he told more than one someone. If he told them all. If he told Cain.

By the time the crumbled paper reaches the ground, it's already just ashes.

"You alright, Cass?" Cain mutters, pulling her closer.

"Yes, fine. Just a stupid joke," she answers, stuffing the rest of the notes into her bag, probably to throw away later, probably in case he tries to look at them now. "I'm afraid our potion isn't, however. I think if we add some - "

Slughorn slips out to his office to retrieve something and the room fills with hisses from the Slytherins as soon as the door closes behind him. The Hufflepuffs look around bewildered. Cassandra blushes and looks down while they go on for a few more seconds.

Cain sees her reaction and speaks up again, "Cass, whatever this is - "

"It's fine," she snaps. "I'm fine. Let them have their fun. I'm going to go get some Lethe River Water to add in to thin it. Shouldn't have any negative effects and may actually enhance the potion well. Maybe some extra porcupine quills as well to offset the potentially increased strength of the sedative properties. I'll be back in a few minutes. Please get the flame going again and put the cauldron back on to it."

"If you want to go, I can tell Sl - "

"I'm fine, Cain. I would prefer to finish the assignment."

He holds her gaze for a few more seconds before nodding and turning back to do as she said. She heads for the cupboard, walking quickly. Nearly half the period is over and if this doesn't work they will have to start again. Meanwhile, most of the other students are leaned back against their desks, watching the potion go through its lengthy first simmer.

As she is leaving the cupboard, she bumps into Snyde. Clever of Greengrass to send her up there. The two run in the same circle but aren't exactly close friends, and she is known for stirring up drama. A convenient person for Cain to blame, as given her reputation he's unlikely to suspect someone else put her up to this.

"Hello, Cassandra," Snyde says with a faux friendly smile. "I don't believe we've officially met before. Vivian Snyde."

Cassandra smiles and quickly says, "Nice to make your acquaintance. I do apologize for being short, but I'm a bit busy."

Snyde purposefully ignores the hint, walking alongside her as she heads for their table, "No problem at all! I just wanted to invite you to join a few of us girls on the next trip to Hogsmeade. There's this great new shoe store that recently opened up in the village."

Cassandra forces herself to keep smiling as she puts the ingredients down, "Thank you so much for the offer, but I'm afraid I will have to decline this time."

Snyde waits until she has uncapped the river water and is pouring it into their cauldron to ask, "Are you sure? It sells the most adorable slippers."

The bottle smashes against the side of the cauldron as Cassandra loses her composure, half falling into the bubbling connotation while the other half lands on the floor. Tom watches her curiously for her reaction. She is silent for a second, staring down at the potion, mouth open as if she is preparing to scream. He notices her other hand is pressed up against the underside of the table. He can see the twitch of her forearm as she tries to stop herself from reacting.

And then a second later she is back, all smiles and sweetness as she looks up at Snyde and says, "Yes, I am sure. I already have other plans. Perhaps next time."

As Cassandra turns back to vanish the glass and liquid from the floor, Snyde still refuses to take the hint, instead gushing, "Of course! Your first Hogsmeade date as a couple, I assume?"

"Yes," Cain answers for her. Ever polite, even to someone his girlfriend looks like she's suppressing the urge to kill. _You daft git, she needs you to stand up for her, not to comfort her._

"That's adorable. I do hope you buy her something pretty to - "

"If you would excuse us, Ms. Snyde, we really need to focus on our potion," Cassandra interrupts, tone civil despite the fact that her patience is clearly up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize. Until next time," Snyde says in a sickly sweet tone. Though she still doesn't neglect to mutter under her breath before leaving to return to her table at the back of the classroom, "Oh, ashes. How appropriate."

Cassandra sighs and stares back down at the cauldron, mumbling to herself, "It's alright. It can still be fixed with - "

Cain rubs a hand along her lower back and leans down to whisper, "Cass, are you sure you're - "

"Yes, for Merlin's sake," she snaps. "I'm fine. Our potion is most definitely not, so please focus on that instead."

"Our potion doesn't really matter."

"It might not matter to you, but it matters to me."

"I can convince Slughorn to let us make it up."

"I don't want to make it up, I want to finish it."

"Cass, please - " He is interrupted by another little bird landing on her side of the desk. He reaches over to pick it up. She pulls it back before he can. "Let me read it, Cass."

"I don't want you to. I want you to focus on our potion. As I will from now on as well."

"This is ridiculous, you can't just pretend - "

"I'm not pretending. I'm fi - "

Before she can finish, their potion starts to rapidly expand and seep down the sides of the cauldron. She mutters a curse under breath and spells the flame off just as Slughorn approaches tutting and shaking his head.

"Oh dear. It looks like this one's absolutely botched. The two of you will need to join another individual and assist them with finishing theirs. Ms. Greengrass, you are brewing alone today, yes?" Slughorn calls out. When he receives a confirmation from her, he turns back to them and then looks at Tom, "And Mr. Riddle, as usual?"

He tries hard to keep the smirk off his face. A little late, but otherwise just as planned. He responds happily, "Yes, professor."

"Wonderful. Mr. Rosier, please move your things over to the station next to Ms. Greengrass. Ms. Malecrit, I assume you can deduce your new placement accordingly."

"With all due respect, professor, I think I might be able to fix…"

"Nonsense, my dear, this brew is already potent enough to kill on contact. Best not to take that risk! If you'll please…"

She forces a smile back at the professor as she politely agrees before turning around. The smile is gone as soon as she looks at him. Tom ignores her expression and offers, "It's almost purple. You can add the powdered porcupine quills for the next step, if you'd like."

"No, thank you," she retorts. "I'll stick with making my own potion."

"There's hardly enough time left," Tom warns. _Little witch, stop trying to ruin my plans._

"I assure you, there's enough," she says with a tilt of her head and a smile that dares him to challenge her on it. A smile that makes something inside of him twitch in a way that is not bad. This witch does things to him that no one should be able to.

"As you wish, Cassandra," he answers before magicking his cauldron and flame to the side a little bit, so smoothly that the potion in it does not even slosh.

She sets up a new potions kit next to him and works in silence, a high flame under her cauldron and her hands flitting quickly across the surface, expertly preparing just enough powdered moonstone just in time for the first and third steps. As soon as it's simmering, she sets to work on powdering and portioning out the ingredients for the subsequent steps.

Her potion is a light purple by the time she turns to her bottle of syrup and realizes it won't be nearly enough. Tom slides the extra one he took over to her before she can resign herself to heading for the cupboard to grab one of the lackluster bottles.

"Is this going to cost me extra?" she quips.

"It wasn't going to, but since you asked - "

"Consider it a down payment on your apology."

"For what, Cassandra?"

"Good point. You have amassed a long list of things to apologize for. I'm not sure which one to credit this against," she expounds as she adds the syrup to her potion. Not the meaning he was going for. "It seems to make sense to discount the earliest wrongs first, so I'll knock leaving me to get lost in the castle off my list of reasons to hate you."

"What happens when we get the last item off that list?" he asks, playing along.

He can work with this. He's already brainstorming ways to engineer other little favors he can do for her. Like getting one of the girls to turn off her alarm so she's late for class and then distracting the professor long enough for her to show up without them noticing. Or having one of them not-so-accidentally kill one of her Herbology projects and just happening to be the first one to notice so he can replant it for her just in time to save her grade.

"I'll still hate you. I just won't have a reason for it," she says while turning up the heat on her potion, stretching the definition of simmer. "Not that I'm really worried about that, as I'm fairly sure you'll add new reasons at a faster rate than you make up for the old ones."

"We might have started off on the wrong foot, but that does not mean we have to keep going down the same path, Cassandra," Tom responds as he adds the porcupine quills.

She laughs loudly before catching herself. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom sees Cain looking at them. Her voice is quiet enough for them not to be overheard again when she responds, "It does when that foot was yours rushing up a staircase in an attempt at what I can only guess was some kind of hazing ritual."

"I thought you just forgave me for that."

"Oh, right. Apologies. It's so hard to keep track of all of the different creative ways you've been a complete and total prick to me since the first day we met. I suppose this payment system won't really work after all."

All that planning gone to waste. The frustration slips into his tone as he grumbles sarcastically, "Sounds fair, considering that you've been such an angel yourself."

"Thank you. I am," she replies sweetly with a smile that seems too close to genuine. Good actress. He's never seen someone else who could switch so easily. _You might have the looks on an angel, but I can see the devil behind your disguise, little witch._

He turns his potion back to a simmer, waiting for it to turn purple again. Meanwhile, she's already adding the quills to hers, catching up quickly. He waits until she is busy stirring - too busy to look up and spot it if he accidentally lets any anger show on his face - to ask the question that is nagging at him, "Why did you say yes?"

"To Slughorn? It didn't sound like I had much of a choice."

"To Cain."

"He's nice," she answers with a slight shrug. "I suppose I just didn't appreciate that enough until I realized how completely awful some people could be."

"You're going to marry him because he's nice?"

"Why, is that a bad reason to marry someone?"

"You tell me, Cass. It's the porcupine quills again next, not the unicorn horn."

She switches the ingredient in her hand, then scowls down at her potion and doesn't answer him. He turns back to his own. They work in silence again until both of their potions turn white, hers just a minute later than his. He catches her look up at the clock just after and sees her grimace. Realizing she's forgotten something, finally. She shakes her head, no doubt realizing she doesn't have enough time, and turns her flame down to do the final simmering.

"Lavender?" Tom asks, finishing adding the last drop of syrup and turning off his flame.

She turns to him, an eyebrow raised, "How did you - "

"Might have seen you write it in your notes the other day. I crushed extra. Here, you can have it," he says, shoving his mortar and pestle over to her. He sees her debate it for a second, switching her eyes between her potion and his hand, then up at the clock again. Finally, she nods and mutters a thank you as she picks it up.

A few minutes later, Slughorn starts making his rounds of the classroom to check on the students' final products. On reaching their desk, he claps and smiles widely, "Both perfect, of course. Ms. Malecrit, I have to admit I was skeptical when you started setting up your cauldron. I did not think it could be done, especially for one's first time brewing such a complex concoction. I will have to make sure not to underestimate your talents again."

Tom waits, watching her as she beams at the professor, acting as if his compliments mean the world to her. He is not sure if she is going to admit it, until she opens her mouth when Slughorn finishes talking and says, "Yes, well… I must admit Mr. Riddle helped somewhat."

_Perfect, little witch. Right into my trap. I have to admit, I thought I was in trouble there when you decided to make your own brew. But it's almost like you want to be stuck with me._

"Just what I like to see, Tom, my boy! Students helping each other learn. 50 points to Slytherin. In fact, I think you two would make wonderful potions partners from now on," the professor declares. Cassandra opens her mouth to protest, but the smile Slughorn gives her makes it clear it won't work. He just turns to leave, muttering, "Yes, very fine indeed."

A voice chimes in from the back of the classroom, "Professor, don't you think pairing the two students with the highest marks together puts the rest of us at some disadvantage? Perhaps it would be better if their knowledge was shared with others in the class."

Tom's eyes narrow. He forces himself not to look back. He does not need to. He recognizes the voice. Lestrange. He will have to remember to punish him for this later. To find some kind of excuse to punish him for this.

"On the contrary, I think it will give you all something to aspire to and be a wonderful educational opportunity to show what truly great potion making can be. All other students will still be able to compete on their own merits."

Even as Slughorn is speaking, she is packing up her materials. She picks up her bag at the same time as the ingredients she needs to return to the table at the front for restocking. Tom smirks and says, "I look forward to - "

She snaps, "Don't."

He remembers Nott's words the other day. Everybody knows hate sex is the best kind. Maybe he will keep pricking her. Clearly, trying to be friendly hadn't helped anyway.

This is going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more update planned for tomorrow and then this story will be quiet for a while well I ruminate on the next chapter and how to fill all the gaps between what I've written so far. I would appreciate if you'd leave a comment to help inspire me :) Thanks for reading!


	6. Plans Are Made to Be Broken

Sucking up to Slughorn all these years is really paying off for Tom.

He knows the professor views himself as almost a surrogate father to him. Part of that has been his assumption of responsibility for leveling the playing field for Tom where he can, substituting his favor for the privileges Tom is lacking as compared to the majority of his housemates. By helping him make connections. By offering him little tasks to do in exchange for a few gallons. By giving him tips on the things not taught in lessons, like dancing before the Yule Ball and table manners before Slug Club dinners.

And now by changing the patrols schedule so that Tom and Cassandra are paired up like they should have been, allowing Tom to indulge what Slughorn sees as his little crush.

He's sure she objected and the professor had to justify the change, because when Slughorn tells him about it on Tuesday morning he makes sure to mention that it is for her own safety. Can't have her continuing to walk down all those staircases and corridors from the Hufflepuff common room to the Slytherin one by herself, as she has been doing because the Hufflepuff girl is too afraid to walk from the entrance hall alone as planned. A fact Tom may have let slip a week or so before during an unrelated conversation.

If only the professor knew there's no more dangerous place for her to be than alone with Tom Riddle. At night. In a place with so many dark corners to trap her in.

Tom knows this is not some little crush, because Tom does not have little crushes. He's never paid attention to any girl before, never cared for them beyond keeping up appearances or obtaining their compliance in one of his schemes. Never considered them beyond considering what they could do for him. And, yes, with her, certainly that is a factor. But there are other factors too. For the first time, there are things he wants her to do to him.

Things he is personally unfamiliar with. A kiss here and there he had not found too revolting to bear when it was necessary to achieve his goals - but he had never thought of anything more before her. Though he has read a few books on the subject and endured years of the boys, particularly Nott, talking about it, so he's picked up a few things, all second-hand. Knows the basic mechanics, the options, the places to touch and look for. Knows enough to have her invading his dreams - and, when he's not careful, his waking thoughts - with his ideas of what it would be like every night since their first kiss.

Dreams he is sure will only get more intense from now on, as he will be spending every day with her. They will have potions on Mondays and Wednesdays, study sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays, patrols on Fridays and Sundays, and Defense tutoring on Saturdays. What a windfall. How convenient that the younger prefects are always stuck on the weekends, since the older ones prefer to have theirs free.

Add to that the realization that all of the time she's spending with him means time she is not spending with Cain, and Tom nearly hugs Slughorn at the news. Metaphorically, of course. He's in such a good mood the entire day that he doesn't even take points from a first year that runs into him on his way into the library, splattering ink on his shirt.

That good mood is promptly ruined when she shows up with nearly their whole cadre of so-called friends following. Rosier, Lestrange, Mulciber, and even Nott, who he's sure hasn't seen the inside of the library since second year, when he'd had his eyes opened to the whole wide world of other things he could be doing with his time after his first kiss with Lucretia Black.

She smiles as she walks up to the chair across from him, "Hello, Riddle. Do you mind?"

_Clever, little witch._

He hadn't specified she had to study with only him. Yes, he very much minds, but he knows he cannot say it out loud so he just smiles back and says not at all. He catches a surprised look from Rosier as she sits before the rest of them join her. Looks like she didn't tell them about her little plot either.

She takes out her charms book and starts on the reading for next week. Tom turns back to his notes, scratching his quill against the parchment a little harder than before. To their credit, even the boys manage to fall into silence after a few minutes and start to actually focus on their schoolwork. Tom wonders if it is just because they can feel his annoyance and know better than to prod at him when he's in this state. He tries to relax, paying attention to his breathing, slowing it down until his grip on his quill loosens.

It's fine. This is fine. This is better than nothing. Eventually, she will become comfortable enough with him that she won't need them around. Won't need Cain around. But for now this is fine. At least this means they will finally get their marks up to acceptable levels. Probably a kinder method for getting them to study than he would have taken if they kept disappointing him, but an effective one nonetheless.

Two hours pass like this, the entire table deathly quiet, all their heads buried in books. Tom's eyes flit up as he notices movement from across him. She puts the book on the table and bends down to her bag to pull out her parchment and quill. Cain shifts, his left arm coming up from underneath the table to wrap around her shoulder, his chair scooting closer to her. He realizes she was always holding the book with her left hand before. They must have been holding hands this entire time.

Tom wonders what kind of quidditch accident would require cutting off Cain's arm. He drops his eyes back to his essay and builds the wall around his mind before she can look up. Underneath the table, he flexes his fist open and closed over and over again until the urge to grab his wand goes away.

Another stretch of quiet passes before she interrupts it, her voice nearly a whisper as she asks, "Riddle, do you know what chapter the colour changing charms are covered in?"

He can see on her face how hard that was for her to ask. She had probably just spent the previous twenty minutes looking for the answer herself before giving up. Then another ten debating whether to speak up or resign herself to missing the question. She is not a person used to asking for help, and he is clearly the last person she wants to ask. Fair, given that last time he had helped her it had been a trap.

Her voice creeps into his thoughts, cracking the metaphorical bricks in his brain. Strange that he can never seem to keep her out while she's looking into his eyes. Like he feels compelled to let her in. He wonders if the same is true for her.

_Come on, prick. I know you want to show off to all your friends._

_Trust me, little witch, I would be much happier showing off to you alone._

He'd said he could be useful to her, hadn't he? Time to prove it. Time to play nice.

"It isn't in there. The professor seems to have missed that the information to answer that question was cut out of this edition. I know where the previous one is shelved, if you would like me to help you find it."

She smiles. Polite. Not real. She says, "No, thank you, I'm sure I can manage to navigate the stacks myself."

"Wonderful. But do feel free to let me know if you need any help," he answers, forcing a smile back as she stands to go get it. Forcing himself to turn back to his work despite the urge to stare at her as she walks away. Forcing himself not to make some excuse for getting up too.

Tom knows she won't find it, because he's re-shelved it in the wrong section. He doesn't want somebody else in the class to take the lead, after all.

Just as she is about to head off, the clock strikes seven times. She reaches back to the desk for her things, hiding her relief at their required study time being finished, as she says, "I believe that's dinner. Shall we go, Cain?"

"I'm not hungry yet, if you'd like to find - "

"Oh, but I'm absolutely famished. If you don't mind? I would hate to have to sit alone. I can always come back up after dinner and dig it out."

"Of course, Cass," he says, standing too.

The little witch thinks she's so clever. He knows she does not eat dinner until 8:00 at the earliest, usually 8:30 because she stops by her dorm to put away her things after the library closes and before she goes to dinner. She thinks she has foiled his plans, but what is she going to say when she gets down to the Great Hall and can't eat more than a scrap of food?

He watches them leave, the rest of the boys also getting up with some excuse themselves one by one within the next few minutes. Tom mutters something about joining them soon while pretending he is still scribbling at his essay. As soon as the last one leaves, he stands and goes to find the book, wondering if he will just lead her on a wild goose chase once she asks for help or if he will take her down to his room to find it checked out, sitting on top of his trunk.

Potions on Wednesday passes mostly in silence, with each of them working on their own brew. The extent of their interaction is glancing over at each other's workstations to compare preparations and forced conversation when Slughorn drops by to check on their progress. It is harder to goad her when a professor is watching, and he knows he wouldn't be able to get what he wants out of it anyway.

Their study time on Thursday is pretty much the same as well, except for the addition of Avery and Selwyn to their group. He wonders if the presence of another girl will make her more comfortable, and indeed the two do strike up a conversation as they head down to dinner. Maybe he'll ask Avery to bring Selwyn around more, like in the common room when they are gathered around the fireplace after dinner or at meals. Maybe she will join them more often then too.

Next week he will pick a smaller table, he thinks. Maybe by the windows overlooking the lake on the other side of the library. If he recalls correctly, there's a nice set of armchairs tucked between two stacks there, where they are unlikely to be seen or overhead. If he sits there, she will have to find him, and her entourage will have to separate themselves from her.

He waits until patrols on Friday to bring up the subject of their last real conversation again. They are walking through the transfiguration corridor when he asks casually, "Did you find the book?"

"Yes," she answers. Voice pleasant, sounding eager for conversation. Maybe she is bored. Maybe she's realized it's more fun to play along with him than against him.

"Where was it?" Tom follows up, stopping in front of one of the archways looking into the clock tower courtyard. One of the most appealing places in the castle, in his opinion.

In hers too, it seems, because she steps forward, placing her hand on one of the stones as she looks up at the clock. Her voice is almost a song as she teases, "Why are you asking me? Don't you already know?"

"Yes, well I haven't been down to the Charms section in some time," he answers, eyes on the way the moon lights up the curves of her body. "I was afraid someone else may have already checked it out, since there's only one copy of the old edition left on the shelves."

She laughs. He notices the way her shoulders have slouched, her usual stiff posture dropped. It feels as if her mask has dropped along with it, at least somewhat.

"When you say someone, do you mean you?" she replies, tone playful. She bends her head to the side. The pale skin of her neck seems to shimmer under the moonlight. Merlin, is she trying to make him act out? "It wasn't in the Charms section, but luckily I was able to find a seventh year who still had their copy in their trunk and let me have it."

"How fortuitous," he replies, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from his tone. He folds his hands behind his back to keep himself from reaching forward. Patience. It'll do no good scaring her away the very first chance he gets.

She turns back to him, a small smile on her face, as she shifts to lean her entire body against one of the columns. He quickly realizes his patience will only last so long. He needs to arrange some accidents. A few brushes. Any excuse to touch her. Preferably, some excuses for her to touch him.

"Is it fortune when one is able to make the right connections?" she quips, tilting her head to the side again. He cannot wait to mark up that porcelain neck of hers. To have her moaning above him as he bites and sucks at her throat. To order her not to magic the evidence of their encounter away - as she had last time - so the entire world can see she is his.

He steps forward, letting his hand brush against her waist and down her leg as he moves to fill the space next to her. She presses herself back against the column, just out of his reach. A response flies out of his mouth before he can stop it, "Yes, I suppose fortune is not the appropriate term for the kind of favors one earns by letting Cain Rosier constantly paw at them."

Fuck, that was definitely an inside thought. He didn't mean to let it slip out. He expects her to take it as an insult and pull away. Instead, she smiles, "Curious, Riddle. One second I almost think we are getting along and then you have to go and ruin things again. Why is that? Just something you can't help, or…"

Well, if he's ruining things already, why not ruin things more?

He turns to her, taking advantage of his height to lean over her her, his right hand pressed against the stone to the side of her head, his left coming up to her waist. He plasters the most charming smirk he can manage onto his face before saying, "Has it occurred to you that from my point of view, _you_ are ruining things, Cassandra?"

She gasps as if she has just realized something before replying with sarcasm lacing her voice, "You're right, I'm _so_ sorry I didn't just let you have whatever you want. I'm sure any other girl here would have thrown herself at you the second you showed even the slightest interest. Instead, I dared to do the unthinkable and turned you down. My apologies for preferring to spend my time with someone who isn't a total prick to me at all times."

"I'm sure his personality is not what you prefer about him."

"I'm sure you're not as irresistible as you think you are."

"Really? If I'm so easy to resist, why have you've been trying so hard to avoid me?"

"I said you aren't irresistible. I didn't say you're easy to resist. You've proved quite the contrary. Forcing me to study with you. Arranging an elaborate stunt to get me as your potions partner. Tricking Slughorn into having us patrol together. What next, you're going to have Dippet create a special dorm just for us?"

He runs his hand down to her hip, "Are you giving me ideas on purpose, Cassandra?"

"For Merlin's sake, call me that one more - "

"As the whole of Hogwarts knows by now, we've kissed. I think that makes us sufficiently close to be on a first name basis, so just try to call me Riddle one more time and I think you can guess how I'll stop you."

"We didn't kiss. You kissed me. Which I would really discourage you from trying to do again unless you want to be permanently and horribly disfigured. And, as an additional incentive to improve your behavior, let me remind you that I have a boyfriend. In case you forgot, he's your friend, and I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate this."

"So that's why you said yes? Because you thought that would dissuade me from trying this again. Do I seem like the type of person who would care about that, Cassandra?"

"Not everything is about you. Though you have given me yet another thing to add to my 'Reasons Tom Riddle is a Prick' list, so thanks for that."

"I warned you once, Cassandra. At this point you're practically asking."

"Oh, come off it, Ri - "

He bends his arm, falling forward onto her, as his other hand comes up to grip her chin between his fingers and make sure she can't turn away. Her lips are softer than last time, and they taste like the chocolate cake she had at dinner. Two of Tom's weaknesses wrapped up in one. Chocolate. Her.

He presses his fingers against her jaw and gets her to open her mouth, his tongue flitting in to it as he tries to taste more of her. To make sure she cannot possibly bite him like last time, he continues to hold her jaw open. She reacts to his intrusion, her tongue swirling against his for a second. He's instantly thinking about what it would feel like everywhere. A second later, she seems to realize what she is doing and her hands come up to push him away again. Clearly, she didn't learn her lesson last time.

He grabs them and presses them against the column above her head, pulling away only to admonish before returning to her lips again, "Not so soon, Cass."

"Not so fast, Tom," she quips. Suddenly his arms are very _very_ hot. He looks up to see flames licking up the sleeves of his robe. He drops them down and the flames go out.

He looks back to see she has slipped away from him. Instead, she's behind him again, standing in the middle of the corridor with a smile as if nothing at all just happened and asking politely, "Shall we finish our patrols? Or should I scream to try to get the attention of one of the professors? Let's see… transfiguration, that's Dumbledore, isn't it? You two do seem to be the best of friends. I'm sure he wouldn't mind being dragged out of bed to find a girl crying about how you just assaulted her."

Tom glares at her. She glares back. He knows he is only seconds away from losing the precious little control he has left and taking this farther whether she wants to or not. It's hard not to with the very obvious and painful bulge in his pants and the smell of her still all around him. The taste of her still on his tongue.

She raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth again.

_Don't scream, little witch. I've had enough for today._

He throws up his wall, averts his eyes, and steps toward her. It's a lie. He hasn't. He will never have enough of her, and he already knows it. But he needs her to think he has.

He keeps his distance as they walk down the hallway, reminding himself of all the reasons he shouldn't do what is still on his mind. Of the potential it would create for losing her, his followers, and his standing at the school forever. No, the temporary gratification cannot possibly be worth the consequences in this case.

He will just have to take care of this himself later. He wonders if he can nick one of her pictures from Cain to help. There's a whole album of them in the bottom drawer of his nightstand. Surely he can have just one. Then he can destroy the rest. He doesn't want Cain to have any.

Then he realizes something else that is enough to take his mind off the sway of her hips.

She had never taken out her wand. Never said a spell. Wandless _and_ nonverbal. Each difficult and beyond what they had been taught in school so far. Certainly not unheard of being performed at their age, but only by advanced pupils. And the combination of both only made it even more improbable. Even he has mastered the performance of very few spells in such a way. Summoning worked, most of the time. Other little tricks.

But conjuring something out of nothing, moving matter and energy in the blink of an eye, lighting a spark that one could control the spread and strength of - that was not a simple little trick, even if it looked like one. Having that spark come straight out of your fingers and touch your own skin without any effect while it did have one on the thing you were touching was another matter. Such magic was something one was born with, not something they acquired through study. Magic that was pure thought, pure impulse, unfiltered as most wizarding spells are. Elemental magic.

The type of magic that did not belong to men, or at least had not for centuries. Rumors are Salazar had it. His was water. Being a moor, that made sense. People say that's why the Slytherin common room is situated inside the Black Lake. They say other things too, ridiculous things that Tom does not concern himself with, like that Salazar's great-great-grandmother fucked a kelpie whose favorite form to take was that of a sea serpent - or at least was cursed by one - and that's why he could speak parseltongue and control water.

True enough that only creatures are known to have such magic these days, but Tom is not convinced that is because wizards aren't capable of it. Indeed, mentions of wizards who could weald it in the folklore only faded away after Merlin, with his spells and his wand and his obsession with defining magic as good or bad, had risen to prominence. More likely, Tom thinks, the knowledge of how to perform it had been lost. Not a wonder, considering it has always been viewed as dark, dangerous, and defiant. A lot of magic had been lost during that time. Modern wizards have restrained themselves, restrained their own power, too much, he thinks.

But if it had been lost, how did she have it?

Maybe he is going insane. Maybe he was too distracted by kissing her to notice that she _had_ taken out her wand, or whispered some incantation under her breath. Maybe she'd spelled his sleeve directly, not her own skin.

But then there were the ashes on the floor of the potions classroom. Had she had her wand out then? Had she said incendio under her breath? He knows he would have noticed it.

No, there's no way. He's simply too eager to explain his attraction to her by making her out as something exceptional. Just as he is. Not that she isn't exceptional, but that is impossible. If the only other possible explanation is that she's mastered a type of magic that's been unheard of for ages, the explanation that she's just very good at wandless and nonverbal magic must be the correct one. No matter how bitter it makes him because he himself isn't. Yet.

She has restrained herself too much, he thinks. Look at what she is capable of and here she is playing by the rules. Playing with a wand she doesn't need. Playing to the wishes and whims of people so far below her. Playing at being the perfect pureblood witch who is happy to spend the rest of her life locked up in Rosier's ivory manor.

Not for much longer, once Tom has his way, as he always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will likely be posted in a few weeks, after I move and have midterms. In the meantime, please please please comment. FYI, you can comment even without an account or if you are not logged in. It would mean the world to me. Thanks for reading!


	7. Double Dealing

This castle still feels strange. In a way, she likes it better than Beauxbatons, which had always felt too stuffy and pristine for her. She likes the faded bricks and the cozy underground common room. But there's something off about it. Well, maybe it's not the castle that feels off. Maybe it's the people in it. Or at least one person in particular.

Luckily, Defense tutoring that morning had been uneventful. Just practicing disarming charms with the second years. She and Tom had stayed on opposite sides of the room for most of it - by her design, though the fact that he'd went along with it means something. Evidently, he knows not to push too hard too often, or at least not to do so in front of others.

This is the chain of thought that pops into Cassandra's head when she is walking back from the pitch Saturday afternoon with Lestrange, Cain having stayed behind to do a few more laps, and he asks about the person she is dreading the fact that she has to see again the next evening. If the current pattern holds, it will be a much less pleasant meeting than todays.

"So…" he starts, trailing off as if he is looking for something to say. As if he hasn't been wanting to ask this exact question, likely for some days now. "What's with you and Riddle?"

"I have no clue what you are talking about, Roland," Cassandra answers stiffly while still looking at the castle instead of him. If they are going to play this game instead of him coming right out with whatever he thinks the answer is, she isn't going to give anything away.

"Well, we can start with the kiss."

"Simple then. There wasn't one. He's a liar."

"So are you, Cass. But fine, since I know you're not going to back off from that, let's talk about something else. You can't pretend he hasn't shown interest in you."

"Interest in annoying me until I go insane, sure."

"Not what I'm talking about."

"Then I don't know what you could possibly be talking about."

"You know, half the time he's trying so hard _not_ to stare at you."

"And what's he doing the other half? Plotting my murder to make sure there's absolutely no chance he'll lose the top spot in our class?" she jokes back. She is half sure this is actually true. There is something more underlying the way he pounces on her, a hunger in the way his lips devour her that reminds her of a predator.

"No. Staring."

"Well, he could be staring _and_ plotting my murder."

"Or he could just be staring and plotting when he's going to snog you next."

"What did that prick tell you?"

"So he _did_ snog you?" he asks with a raised brow and a smirk on his face. Fucking Roland. Always knowing how to get the truth out of her. Still, unless someone has proof, she is not about to go admitting to it out loud.

"No. As I said, he's a liar. Just wondering what lie he's spreading now."

"Whether he did or didn't, he wants to."

"So? So does Nott. So does Mulciber. So do half the bloody boys here. They're teenage boys who happen to be attracted to teenage girls - I'm pretty sure they want to snog any half-decent looking one they see. Not everyone's taste is as discerning as yours."

"It's different with him. He's different," he answers with a slight sigh.

She recognizes that look on his face. Perfect opportunity to try to change the subject. And really, she does want to bring him to his senses, so she says, "Oh, please don't tell me you have a crush on him too like everybody else in this bloody castle. How are so many people attracted to an individual without even one redeeming quality?"

"Come on, even you have to admit he has _at least_ one redeeming quality."

"Good looks aren't a redeeming quality."

"So you think he's handsome?" he asks, raising his eyebrows again. Bloody hell, if they were still kids she'd resort to fighting him to end this conversation. But they aren't, and if she does he will know that's why she's doing it.

"Of course, I have eyes. Too bad it's just a cover for his rotten personality."

"You two seemed to be getting along just fine in potions."

"That's only because he's smart enough not to be a bully in front of professors."

"So you think he's handsome _and_ smart?" he teases, a smirk creeping into his expression.

"The extent of what I think about Tom Riddle is that he's a prick and I would enjoy Hogwarts much more if he wasn't a student here."

"Pretty sure that's not true. You'd be bored. Come off it and tell me the truth, Cass. What's going on between you and Tom Riddle?"

"I told you, nothing," she repeats, refusing to budge.

"So you're not playing with him?" he answers. She hears the accusation in his voice. Merlin, maybe she _will_ fight him. Does he realize he's not actually her older brother? That he has no right to tell her what to do?

"Of course not."

"Because if you were I'd say that was a bad idea. For you and for Cain."

"I am not playing with Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle's playing with me," she says, realizing a second too late that he's gotten her riled up enough for her to slip again.

"What do you mean by that, Cass?"

"Nothing. He's just a prick, that's all. I've got to - "

"No. After this summer, you don't get to keep any more secrets from me," he declares. The reference stings. Admittedly, if she hadn't kept secrets that summer, the trouble would have ended sooner. But it's hardly her fault she got slipped a love potion - and she doesn't plan on letting her guard down again. She doesn't need anybody else to protect her. He seems to see he's pissed her off, because he follows up with, "Come on, Cass. You know all of my secrets, so it's only fair that you spill yours."

She grimaces at his vulnerable expression and can't help but answer, "Fine. But you can't tell Cain. We both know how he'd take it."

"And you know whatever it is you shouldn't keep it from him."

"Right, because it's really going to help with my reputation - and convincing everybody his little story is a lie - if the two of them have a fight."

He stops in his steps and turns toward her, "Merlin, Cass, what did you do?"

"I told you, _I_ didn't do anything. He's just… does he ever give up?"

"When he wants something, no."

"In that case, I am throughly and completely fucked."

"I hope not literally."

"Bloody hell, of course not. I'm a proper pureblood, Roland. Goodness, can you imagine having sex for a reason other than making heirs?"

"Don't joke, Cass."

"No, I haven't had sex with Tom Riddle, nor do I ever intend to. Just the idea of it makes me want to gag."

"Please don't, you'll ruin my shoes," he jokes to lighten the mood.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Or that. Since Cain is so set in the traditional ways, I do fully expect to maintain my virginity through school. I just meant that he's going to be bothering me for the next three years. I've never look forward to finishing school more."

" _Bothering_ you?" he asks, eyebrows raised again. Gods, he's one for acting outraged. As if he isn't far more experienced with boys than she is. If she had to bet on which of them would be found in a compromising position with another student in some back corner of the library, it would most definitely not be her.

In the interest of limiting whatever wild ideas are running through his head, she admits, "Riddle likes to try to stick his tongue down my throat whenever we are alone. Which he also seems to be making an effort to ensure happens as often as possible."

"So you admit you two have snogged."

"I said _try_ , Roland."

"We've all seen your lipstick on his shirt collar, Cass."

"Excuse me?" she asks, the one sounding outraged now. She can't believe he'd believe she would do that. That he'd walk her through this whole charade just to get her to admit to something he already believes her guilty of beyond any doubt.

"Come on, there's no point in continuing to lie."

"I'm not, and I hope by _all_ you don't mean Cain. Or that he's smart enough to realize it's a trick, unlike you. That sneaky bastard - "

He interrupts her, eyes wide and tone serious, to warn, "Cass, do yourself a favor and don't ever call him that again. How would - "

She interrupts him with a laugh, "Oh, he is? This is going to be fun."

"No, it would definitely not be fun. Seriously, for your own sake, don't mention it."

"Don't be a spoilsport, Roland."

"Don't be foolish, Cass."

"I can hold my own against Tom fucking Riddle, thank you very much," she says, crossing her arms in front of her and standing her ground.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," he answers with a sigh. He reaches a hand up to rub his temple as he mutters, "He likes a challenge, and you keep giving him one."

"What am I supposed to do, close my eyes and think of England until he's satisfied?" she says with a scoff. She has the feeling Tom Riddle is the type of person who is never satisfied. Not until he takes what he wants and destroys everything else. She has no intention of letting any man destroy her. She has every intention of destroying him first.

Another sigh. He drops his hands and looks at her again, "Honestly, I don't know, Cass."

She raises an eyebrow, "So what's the point of this conversation then, Roland?"

"Just… be careful, that's all. Don't break Cain's heart. He cares about you too much for that, and I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have both of you."

* * *

Tom is nowhere to be seen the rest of Saturday, or Sunday either, which she finds refreshing. Indeed, this castle _is_ a lot nicer without him constantly hovering, plotting whatever he is up to with her. Most likely just the misogynistic desire to be able to say he conquered the new girl. Really, his thoughts - at least most of them - are only as objectionable as those of most his age. It is his methods that make his mere presence disagreeable. So no presence, no problem. She would much rather be curled up on the common room couches with Cain instead, as she is most of the weekend.

It is Sunday night before she knows it. They had an early dinner so they could enjoy the common room while it is nearly empty. She lays across the sofa, reading with her head in his lap, for only ten minutes before growing restless and looking up at him.

"Working on plays again?" she teases. "Scrap that one, way too obvious."

"I'm sorry, would you like to invent some yourself?" he teases back as he lowers his notebook to look down at her.

"If I drew the plays, they'd have you staying on the ground, putting yourself in as little danger as possible instead of playing that rubbish sport."

"Really, your hobby is mixing poisons and you still criticize the safety of mine?"

"Well, your safety is more important than mine, since mine's already compromised."

He tilts his head back. She knows he is suppressing a sigh as he responds softly, "Cass, don't make light of that. Please, I know you like to joke but not about this."

"What else can I do about it? Making light of it makes it seem less… just less."

"You know I'd do anything to keep you away from those people, right? Am doing everything I can think of. And if you need anything you can just ask."

"I'm fine, Cain."

"Bullshit, Cass. I saw the letter. The howler. Did they hear about - "

She sits up, taking his hand in hers, "Don't worry about it, Cain. I can handle them."

He looks back at her, eyes and tone sincere, "I promise you'll never have to again. You'll never have to go back. I'll never let them get near you. Not after what they did this summer."

"Cain, you can't keep those promises and you know it. They're still my parents. They are still legally allowed to do anything they want with me. You'll never be able to pay them enough to give that up. They'll just keep raising the price."

He raises a hand to her face, pushing her hair behind her ear before cupping his palm around her cheek, "I'd give anything for you, Cass. Not… I don't want you to think you have to do this because of it. I'm not expecting anything in return. But I'd give anything to make you happy, whether or not - "

"You make me happy, Cain. Just you. That's all I need from you. So please do not go crashing off your broom just to win the next game."

This is a comforting lie and she knows it. Love is never all one needs. But she is tired of his pity, and even more tired of him trying to buy his way into her heart when he doesn't need to. She knows it is his natural reaction to things, that for him money solves everything. And it really does, but she doesn't want it to. She wants to solve things for herself.

Even more, she knows he is still unsure whether she really wants this, and she doesn't know how to convince him that she doesn't want anything from him except _him_. He's her safety, her comfort, her haven. But she does not need him to be her everything. Does not want him to be her everything. Wants more than that. Not more than him. But more than this, a life as a prize on someone else's arm. As a side note to someone else's accomplishments. She does not know how to tell him that in a way that doesn't hurt him. Not when he treats her like his everything.

She smiles as convincingly as she can and changes the subject, "What's so important about the next game anyway?"

"There's a scout coming."

"Already? Which team?"

"Chudley Cannons," he mumbles. She laughs.

"Come on, Cain. Please tell me you'd never stoop that low. Not like you need to."

"Course not. It's a chance to get people talking. People hear one team's interested and they'll come looking too."

"Of course they will. You're brilliant. I don't expect you to settle for anything less than Puddlemere United."

It's his turn to laugh now, "I appreciate your confidence, but getting on Puddlemere as a rookie is about as likely as you landing a spot on the Holyhead Harpies."

"Not from the best chaser this school has seen in its history. You'll get an offer from the Montrose Magpies at least," she answers with a smile before adding jokingly, "Maybe it would help if I learn how to play so I can help you practice."

"Hmm… I think I'd prefer you to help in other ways," he answers with that charming grin of his before wrapping an arm around her hips and pulling her toward him so that she is straddling his lap. "I still have a lot of excess energy to get out."

He pulls her in for a kiss, long and lingering, only letting her go when they are both nearly suffocating. He leans forward to whisper in her ear, "Merlin, Cass. You're so beautiful. I shouldn't even be allowed to think about the things I want to do to you."

She laughs lightly, "You are such a tease."

"How so?" he asks. His thumb circles against her hip as he continues to stare at her as they regain their breath.

She smiles and kisses him on the cheek before tilting her lips to his ear, "You're allowed to do more than think but you won't. No, Cain Rosier is always the perfect gentlemen."

"Maybe I've finally reached the limits of my self-restraint."

"Such a tease," she says with another laugh before leaning in to kiss him again. He pulls her hips forward against his as he kisses back. His fingers start to wander down her leg while they keep kissing. She gasps when she feels them slip under the hem of her skirt.

She pulls away to chide, "Cain, there are other people around."

"Ignore them."

"Trying to make me lose this nice shiny prefect badge?"

"Relax, Cass. Who is going to bother telling on us? Half of them have done worse and the other half want to. Unless you don't want to? You can tell me if it's too much."

Riddle, that's who. And she is sure he knows it just as well as she does. She maintains her smile despite the thought, "No, of course not. Just not here, alright? Besides, I have patrols in - "

"There's plenty of time left, Cass. Stay with me."

"You're too charming for your own good," she responds before kissing him again.

* * *

They only come up for air when there's a cough behind them. She turns her head to see Roland standing there with his arms crossed.

"You two are scaring the second years. And I am pretty sure Riddle's standing out in the corridor because he's waiting for you to start patrols, Cass."

She sighs as she climbs up. She tries to fix her clothes as subtly as possible while she answers, "Great, can't wait for him to complain about waiting when he could have just come in here himself. If you'll excuse me - I'll see you two at breakfast tomorrow."

She walks away quickly, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. Sparing a glance back as she reaches the door, she sees the two boys elbowing each other, probably trading jabs about inappropriate behavior.

When she turns back, she sees Tom standing directly across from the common room entrance, looking devastatingly perfect as always. She steps through and lets the wall close behind her again before meeting his gaze. They start walking in silence, Tom leading the way, and are already on the second floor landing when she speaks up.

"How many points did you deduct this time?"

"None. Though if it happens again, I'm going to have to tell Slughorn."

"I'll tell him you're lying."

"I'm sure those marks on your neck will be proof enough that I'm not."

"What - " she asks, reaching a hand up and wincing when she feels the bruises. "I'll be back in a minute."

She darts away to the bathroom next to the staircase without bothering to wait for him to respond, pulling her wand out on the way. Once she reaches the sinks and mirrors, she raises it to begin to heal them.

He interrupts by calling from the doorway, "He'll be disappointed if you get rid of them. Clearly, he's trying to send a message. Seems a bit insecure, doesn't it?"

"This is the girls bathroom."

"So? It's not like anyone else is going to need to use it right now."

"I'm using it. I'm a girl. Get out," she replies sharply. She catches him smirk and step forward. She rolls her eyes and turns around to face him, wand still raised. "Get out."

"You don't scare me, Cassandra. Do I scare you?"

"I should scare you, Riddle."

"Tut tut, didn't I already warn you about that?" he says, nearly looming over her now.

"Just try."

"There will be plenty of time for that later. Finish what you came in here to do or I will."

"What's wrong, you don't like seeing them?"

"I don't want him to think he owns you."

"But see, he does. Or he will. That's what this little ring - "

"Don't provoke me into breaking it, Cass. You and I both know you are not the kind of girl who will stand for being someone else's property. You seem to prefer taking his."

"You don't know anything about me. Or our relationship."

"I know he's not enough for you. That's enough. We are both so talented. Imagine the things we could accomplish together. The magic we could make."

"Do these silver-tongued whispers and empty words usually work on other girls?"

"Oh, I would never dare whisper such things to anyone else, Cassandra."

"You shouldn't dare whisper them to me, Riddle."

"Why, because that brute dared to mark you as his?"

"Because I don't want anything to do with you, Riddle."

"You are a very bad liar, Cass."

"You are an annoying prick, Riddle."

"Does that change the fact that you liked it when I kissed you?"

"It should, Riddle."

He smirks. Should. He leans in to tease, "Do you want me to kiss you again right now? Because it seems like you are trying to provoke me into it."

Her cheeks flare red as she realizes her mistake, "No."

"Tell me, how much better did it feel with me? How many more of your nerve endings fired at my touch? How much more did your brain light up? I would have been jealous, you know, but you looked so bored back there."

"You _are_ jealous."

"Darling, if I thought there was anything to be jealous of, I would have put an end to it a long time ago."

"You are a very bad liar, Riddle."

"And you want me to kiss you, Cassandra. But I don't settle for seconds. Get rid of those marks and wash out your mouth and maybe I'll give in."

"Please don't. Though I don't know why I have to repeat this yet again, I don't want - "

"Stop pretending. Really, you are making this harder than it needs to be."

"This? There is no _this_ ," she hisses. "You forced yourself on me. Twice. I thought you learned your lesson the last time, but clearly that wasn't enough punishment for you. Do it again and there will be serious consequences."

"Cassandra, all this fighting benefits no one. It is a waste of your energy and mine. We will play out this interaction hundreds of times and both of us will be too stubborn to budge. Wouldn't it be better if we came to a little truce?"

"You forget you already tricked me into one deal. I'm not going to fall for that again."

He just smirks back at her, goading her, "I just want to be friends, Cassandra."

She scoffs, "People don't treat their friends in such ways, do they?"

"I do want to be friends with you, Cassandra. As I have pointed out, I think such a friendship would be advantageous to us both."

"A friendship with you sounds about as appealing as one with a dementor. But I do think a truce doesn't sound half bad - as long as I get to set the rules for it."

"How about this? We set three rules each, subject to the other's approval."

"Only if the study sessions count as one of your rules. And I get to set mine first."

"Of course. Ladies first," he answers with a smirk.

"First, you have to stop spreading rumors about me. Second, no more unwanted - and I assure you, it is all unwanted - touching. Third, you can't hurt Cain."

"Alright. First, our study sessions, of course - alone in the future, Cass. Second, you will call me Tom or accept the same consequences as before for not doing so. Third, you will refrain from any further such public displays of your relationship."

"Sounds acceptable. Shall we shake on it, _Tom_?" she answers. She sticks out her hand and he takes it, lingering a second too long for her taste and making her immediately regret the offer.


	8. Trials and Tribulations

He had made a mistake. Tom had realized this after their first night of patrols. After reflecting on how anybody in the world could reject him not once but twice.

The mistake was showing her who he really is right away.

From their very first meeting, something about her had made him snap out of the usual charming facade he wore. Perhaps it had been the way she had dared to spar with him head on, perhaps it had been how cleverly she had disguised insults behind her unceasing politeness, or perhaps it had been her tenacity in following him around the castle.

Whatever it was, it had caused him to stray from his mission of gathering information into one much less noble. Scaring her off. Really, what he had done had been relatively benign, but it had been enough. Enough to put her on guard against him. Enough to make her question every word out of his mouth. Enough to make her avoid him.

Normally, girls liked being teased a little. Being chased. Being wanted. At first, he'd thought he could play it off as that, so she'd assume his behavior was misguided rather than malicious. But it hadn't worked. He'd thought that as soon as he turned up the charm, she'd fall like everyone else. But she hadn't. Far from it, in fact. The memory of the heat of her flames against his arms still comes back to him sometimes, like he's on fire all over again.

No, she hadn't fallen for any of his acts and, if he kept focusing on immediate gratification rather than repairing the foundation of their relationship, she probably never would. But she had kissed him back, even if it had been for the briefest second. She had all but admitted she liked it. This gave him assurance that there was in fact a relationship to be repaired.

Though her last request had given him pause. Cain had said she didn't really care about him - at least not more than she cared about herself, clearly - and yet she'd wasted one of her three slots on him when she could have used it to protect herself. And this despite not having any actual proof that Tom was hurting or intended to hurt Cain.

This despite the fact that she did have plenty of actual proof that Tom does wants to do plenty of things to her. She could have demanded he leave her alone outside of their existing obligations, or stop competing so fervently with her in at least one subject, or stop watching her across the dining table and common room, or stop teasing her.

As it stands, basically all she had demanded was that he not touch her against her will. A difficult rule to deal with in the short-term, but one he can find plenty of ways around. At least until her will fades. Until she acclimates to his presence and her stubborn resistance ends. Until she gives in to him.

Cain is a problem to be dealt with, but for now he needs to focus on bringing her over to his side. For now he will not concern himself with who else is standing at hers.

* * *

In pursuit of this goal, Tom is on his best behavior when he next sees her in potions on Monday. By best, he means most restrained. No "accidental" hand touches. No leaning over her to check her cauldron. No even asking if she wants to brew together. She's silent most of the time, lip bitten between her teeth while she stares down at her work with unfazed concentration. Slughorn lauds it as her best performance yet. She runs to Cain's side as soon as class finishes.

She shows up at the library alone on Tuesday and takes the seat across from him. He smiles and greets her briefly before returning to his own work. The hours pass in silence. By the end of them, her shoulders have dropped and she's no longer looking up at him nervously every few minutes. She accepts his invitation to walk down to dinner together and simply smiles at everyone's surprised looks before sliding into the space next to Cain.

The rest of the week passes in similar fashion. So does the next one. It is not much, but being ignored is still better than being avoided. He is still one step closer to her.

* * *

It is two Tuesdays later that this pattern finally breaks. He is walking to their usual table when he notices her sitting at her old one already. He is about to walk past her, assuming she will move over to join him when the time for their study session actually comes, assuming she does not want him to sit with her where none but the most wayward students could possibly see or hear them. Merlin, the things he could do to her in that back corner without being caught.

She looks up with a smile and a wave before he can walk past. When he just stands there staring at her, she raises an eyebrow and tilts her chin as if to ask if he's coming. His jaw ticks. Is this a trick or has she warmed to him already? How can she have, when she refuses to engage in anything but the most basic and necessary conversation with him? It must be some kind of trick then. Perhaps she will ask him for a favor - to leave early to work on her potions projects or to skip patrols that weekend for a date with Rosier or something like that.

He pushes his thoughts aside as he takes the seat across from her. She returns to her book, and he pulls out his own to start reading. Halfway through, she finally looks up at him.

"You offerred to help me, correct?" she asks. Not that the words themselves sound like much a question, but the way she is looking at him is.

"Yes," Tom forces in his most polite voice, trying to reserve any judgments about what she is up to, or at least stop them from creeping into his tone.

"Did you already finish your transfiguration essay?"

"Yes."

She smiles. Dazzling. Brilliant. Beautiful. Fake. She leans toward him, voice a notch brighter and deeper than usual as she says, "So do you mind if I take a look, just for reference? I can't quite figure out how to word this argument about the second exception."

"Of course," he responds after a second of pause, pulling his eyes away from her to dig it out of his bag. Really, he wants to say no. If she cannot figure out how to write her own essay, it's her own fault if she gets a bad mark. And her getting a bad mark is sure to help him in their constant battles for the top spot. Of course, he knows saying no wouldn't serve his other goals well. Anyway, she'll owe him after this.

When he looks back up after his thoughts have run their course and he has the essay rolled out on the table in front of him, she is gone from the seat across from him. He sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up to see her leaning over the table next to him. Fuck, she's close. Closer than she has been since their encounter by the courtyard. He can smell her everywhere. Can see her lip turning red where she is biting it as she concentrates on reading. Can see the way her skirt shifts to show her knees. If he just reached out a hand under the table… He curls his fingers around the arms of the chair and focuses on rebuilding the wall in his head instead.

Her fingers brush his arm. Her breath brushes against his ear as she whispers his name. His gaze snaps back to her, head turning to find her face only inches from his. The wall cracks. He cracks. His eyes narrow at her coy smile.

_What are you doing, little witch?_

_Testing the strength of your commitment, Tom._

He understands her behavior now. If he is the one to break the rules, then she can withdraw from the whole thing. The question is why does she want to? She had been the one to propose it. Unless she regrets it after spending more time with him. Unless she wants an excuse to stay even further away from him.

He had thought things were going well. Unless that is the problem, in her eyes.

He just smirks back at her and says, "And what about the strength of my essay, Cass? Any suggestions for improvement?"

Her brow furrows for a second, almost imperceptible, surprise leaking out long enough for him to catch it before she replaces it with a neutral expression yet again. She steps back. He reminds himself not to reach out, keeping his hands under the table until she is back at her seat, which is when she answers him, "As a matter of fact, yes. You wrote about conjuring money, but not the rules around conjuring substitutes for money, such as gold or silver."

He did not mean to start an hour long discussion with her about the laws of transfiguration, but it appears he has. They are still debating how far the concept of substitution for money could theoretically extend when a knock on the bookshelves behind Tom breaks their concentration.

Cain is leaning there, his usual casual, carefree grin on his face. If Tom didn't notice the way he was still tapping his fingers back against the wood, he'd almost believe it. A telltale sign that Cain wants to hit something but knows he can't.

"Cass, you're late for dinner," he calls. "Apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt, but I didn't want you to miss it. You too, of course, Tom."

"How considerate," Tom responds with a matching grin before turning back around and catching her eye briefly while he closes his books.

_Prince Charming to the rescue. Though you don't look like a damsel in distress to me._

_Then you shouldn't have nicknamed me Cinderella._

_Perhaps I should have nicknamed you Lady Lilith. What would they think of you then?_

A short, quiet laugh escapes her. Her eyes go wide and she snaps her mouth shut a second later. Snaps her gaze away from him and toward her books instead, shoving them quickly in her bag and muttering a farewell before walking away with Cain.

* * *

That evening, as Tom is on his way to bed, Cain steps in front of him. He moves to dodge around him, but Cain tries to get him to stop,"Tom - "

He pauses for a mere second to make sure he's looking at him when he says this, "You know, if you're this afraid of her leaving you, perhaps you should acknowledge that even you don't believe she really wants to be with you."

Cain stands there, jaw open. Tom walks past him and pulls the book he is working on out of his bedside drawer. It takes a moment, but Cain persists by turning back to him and restarting the conversation, "It is important to me that Cassandra is not placed in any danger."

Tom chuckles, this time not even bothering to look at him as he teases, "Oh, is that all you're worried about?"

He sees Lestrange try to step in and pull Cain away, but the ridiculous boy stands his ground, "I've asked you twice now, why can't you just leave her alone?"

Tom rolls his eyes and then smirks at him, "Your girlfriend can protect herself, Cain."

" _My_ girlfriend shouldn't have to, Tom."

"You know she doesn't like this knight in shining armor act, right?"

"You know she doesn't like - "

"Cassandra and I are friends. Ask her," Tom challenges with a glare. "You know what that's like, being her friend, don't you?"

He glares back, fists flexing. Before he can respond, Lestrange pulls him around and whispers something in his ear. Cain looks back once, shakes his head, and storms out.

Tom only regrets it the next morning when he hears a rumor that somebody caught them in the common room at 3 a.m., her reading and him sleeping with his head in her lap.

* * *

From then on, study sessions are no longer so quiet. They sit in the back corner and interrupt each other's reading with questions, nitpick each other's assignments, and debate the finer details of magic. Both of their marks go up, so that they are nearly tied in every subject, constantly switching positions between second and first while everyone else falls miles behind.

Potions is the next area where she opens up. He purposefully makes a mistake the next Wednesday that she tells him how to correct, and then another one that cannot be corrected. Blaming distraction and fatigue, he abandons his own hopeless concoction in favor of working with her together at her station, and she does not object - likely simply because that day's potion calls for a lot of crushing and cutting of various live bugs, which he had noticed her grimacing at earlier, and if he can do those things instead she is willing to accept his proximity.

She does not circle the room avoiding him at defense tutoring as usual on Saturday morning, and he considers this the final sign of his victory. Albeit a small one. It is a work relationship really, nothing more. Simply the mutual exchange of knowledge and the acknowledgment that they could both better develop their skills through it. No personal discussions. No sitting next to each other outside of classes or the library. No warmth.

He starts trying to change that on Sunday with a planned diversion. There are only four weeks until the end of term, the deadline he'd given himself for being patient. He cannot afford to be quite as patient as before.

She does not notice until they have passed the trophy room. She has lapsed into silence again, walking at least ten paces behind him as she always does on patrols, clearly still uncomfortable with the idea of being truly alone with him, clearly not trusting him to behave without any wandering eyes to keep him in check yet.

"Where are we going?" she asks. "Don't patrols usually start - "

"I thought I'd finally give you that tour I owe you," he answers, careful to keep his tone light, careful to avoid scaring her by looking back at her.

She finally catches up to him, her interminable urge to argue with him overtaking her fear of being close to him, "I have been navigating this school for over two months, you know. I don't exactly need a tour to show me how to get around anymore."

"I know. This is a tour to show you all the best places in the castle."

"Are you trying to be nice?" she asks, eyes narrowed.

"I am trying to make up for my earlier mistakes, Cassandra."

"Why?"

"I thought the why was obvious."

"Once again, I have a boyfriend. And I am not interested in you, Tom."

"I just want to be friends, Cass."

She laughs, "Why would I want to be friends with you?"

He smiles despite her tone, "I can be very nice if you let me be."

She stops and turns to him, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on her face, "Alright, let's see about that, Riddle."

He traps her against the wall, an arm outstretched against it by her side so that he can lean down and look her in the eyes as he says, "Cassandra, you are asking me to misbehave just so you can punish me for doing so. Do you think that's fair?"

"I am not asking you to do anything."

"It's my right within the rules, which you agreed to, you know."

"Just because you have the right it doesn't mean you have to take advantage of it."

"Have you ever met a boy who wouldn't if he were given the chance?"

"Yes."

"Lestrange doesn't count."

"How do you - "

"As if it could be more obvious. Answer truthfully," he orders. She does not respond. He sighs after a few seconds. "You are asking me to be a better person than I am, Cassandra."

"Or you can think of it as giving you an opportunity for personal growth, Tom. A chance to practice your self-restraint in this area, since evidentially you've never had anybody say no to you before."

_That would be true, if I had ever wanted to do half of these things to anyone else._

He does not mean for her to hear it. He isn't looking at her when he thinks it. He's looking at the wall and analyzing the situation. Her expression is playful. She is not trying to push against him or escape. But he can see the fear behind her eyes, and he needs to calm it before he can move any further toward his plans.

He leans down to press a kiss against her forehead and then whispers before stepping away, "I cannot promise I will always be able to live up to it, so tread carefully, little witch."

* * *

He starts with the restricted section, then the astronomy tower for the view, and saves for last his favorite hidden gem, something he has never shared with anyone else before. She just looks at him confused as they stand in an empty corridor and he asks, "What would you want to add to this castle if you could?"

She thinks for a moment before answering, "A conservatory. Beauxbatons had one. It was like a forest. You could get lost in it."

"Think about that and pace back and forth three times."

She rolls her eyes at him, a skeptical look on her face the entire time she is following his instructions. It actually takes her until the fifth pass to realize a door has appeared. She looks back at him but he does not say anything, simply tilting his head to indicate she should go ahead.

As soon as she walks in she mumbles, "Merlin, this is amazing. Did you make this?"

He laughs, "No, not even I could do this. The founders built it into the castle. I just found it on some old floorplans and thought I would explore."

"Interesting. Do you think it's all transfiguration? As in, all of this is actually real and it just morphs to match the wishes of whoever is about to enter? It certainly makes the most sense, but the level of magic and detail involved… Or perhaps it is mind magic, just an elaborate illusion? How would that explain that you can see it too? Unless it somehow projects the vision into a space instead of into a person's head. Or these are real places and it's simply apparition across space to whatever room best fits your wishes? Then how did the founders know all the types of rooms they needed to create? Unless it takes you to whatever existing place in the world is the closest match, then the choices would be so vast they would be constantly expanding and almost infinite as far as it matters. Transfiguration seems most likely, but then I wonder what the original form of the room must look like, if there even is one."

She is saying all of this as she walks around, more to herself than to him he suspects. He sits on a bench, watching her while she continues until she finally gets tired and slips into the space next to him.

"What do you make it into?" she asks.

Tom does not expect this question. It's the first time she's ever asked him about himself in what feels like a serious way. A way where she actually wants to know the answer.

"Do you want me to show you?" he asks, standing up. She follows him out and he goes through the paces, walking in first this time. When she joins, she turns to him, an eyebrow raised, clearly about to snark something at him about the fact that he's lead her into a bedroom. "Calm down. It's not an innuendo. Sharing a dorm with four other teenage boys just gets a bit tiresome at times. Some weekends, it's nice to be able to go somewhere quiet and private to think and learn and practice magic."

* * *

She hums while looking around the room. There's an odd familiarity to it, which takes her a few seconds to place before she realizes what the layout reminds her of. It's Cain's room, only a bit different. Different decorations, different books on the shelves, a different feel overall, but still familiar.

"Have you ever been to the Rosier manor?" she asks, trying to sound nonchalant. She wonders if he even realizes. The fact that he shrugs before answering makes her think he doesn't.

"Once. Dippet gave permission for a Christmas visit during fourth year."

She laughs, "I haven't been back there for Christmas since starting school. Does his mother still put the Christmas tree on that ridiculous pedestal to make sure that all the gifts fit under it? I swear it would get taller every year."

"Yes. Kept my wand ready in case it tipped over, it was large enough to crush a person."

"It's no wonder. Druella got this dollhouse that was taller than her one year. I think she was four. It had its own room, for Merlin's sake. She played with it for hours every day for about a week before getting bored - which meant I was also stuck playing with it since she would start bawling every time I tried to leave. Honestly, if it had gone on any longer Cain probably would have broken it."

"Ah, so he's always been selfish about you," he answers, tone still playful. As if the sharp look in his eyes hasn't already betrayed him.

"Excuse me?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You call him your best friend, but he's your only friend, Cass," he answers, not avoiding her stare. She's used to people backing down when she gives them this look or speaks to them in this tone. Not him, of course.

"Lestrange is also my friend."

"True, but Lestrange is more his friend than yours."

"That's a rude thing to say."

"It's a true thing to say."

"It's hard to - "

"No, it's not. At least not when you don't spend all your time with just one person."

"You criticize me for only having one friend when you have none. At least none that you would really consider your friend, even if they do consider themselves to be such. A bit hypocritical, isn't it, Tom?"

"I'm not criticizing you, I'm criticizing _him_."

"Well don't."

"My apologies for sullying your fantasy, Cassandra," he drawls sarcastically.

She glares at him, knowing what he is up to and already knowing it is best to stop it now. Technically, it would have been best if she'd never started it. She'd gotten too comfortable, apparently. Really, he isn't half bad when he's not making everything about him. She curses herself for even thinking that and forces her mind back on topic.

"You might not care about my relationship, but I do. And no matter what you try to convince me of through your little mind games, I will always care about Cain. I swear on my life that if you ever hurt him - in any way - yours won't last long," she says. She looks like she could do it. There is a steely look to her face, an unflinching quality to her eyes, and a composure to her frame which all scream out how much she means it as she threatens his life.

_Hurt him? Never. More like rip his heart out. One day you are going to beg me to fuck you in front of him, little witch, and I will happily make you scream out that you're mine._

She pretends she hasn't heard that. She's not looking at him anymore and she knows from the cocky tone in his voice when he speaks again he thinks he has her convinced. That he doesn't realize what an open book he is to her. How can she help it, when his thoughts are so loud, so insistent, shoving their way into her head?

"Of course, Cassandra. I want to be your friend, remember? So why would I ever hurt one of your other friends?"

Well, what matters isn't what he thinks anyway. It's how he acts. So if he is willing to put on this act, she is willing to go along with it.

"Wonderful, Tom. So we can be friends then."

"Yes, friends. Good friends, I hope."

_If you would just look at me you would know to run now, little witch._

He sees her head turn back and closes his mind. She meets his eyes and all there is behind them is a wall. A wall a hundred feet high, impossible to scale, and a smile like a wolf closing in on its prey. At least it is finally quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I would so appreciate a review to hear any thoughts or reactions you have on the story :) In particular, is there any character you would like to see more POV from?


	9. Two's Company, Three's a Crowd

Everything is going well until Thursday. Tom thinks he has finally won her over.

"Good morning, Rosier," Avery drawls as Cain joins the group at breakfast, Cassandra missing from his side. Not that all of them haven't already noticed where she is this morning. "Have you looked at who your girl is walking around with these days?"

Rosier looks up the table and then shrugs before settling back in and reaching for his breakfast, "Malfoy? So what?"

"Think you might want to do something about that."

"Abraxas may be a right git, but he's not anything to worry about in my book."

"My eyes would indicate otherwise," Avery says. "You may want to take better care of her before someone else does."

"I take very good care of her. The fact that I trust her to speak to another bloke without snogging him does not mean I don't."

Tom almost laughs. _Not when that bloke is me, evidently_ , he thinks.

"She doesn't look taken care of to me," Nott chimes in. "Maybe there's something you're missing that only someone more experienced can provide."

"For your information, I am unconcerned about Malfoy for much the same reasons I am unconcerned about you, Nott. She said he's so spoiled that she's surprised he doesn't just walk around with his Gringotts account balance written on his shirt. She's just talking to him because she needs him to lend her some book again to study for exams."

"I'm spoiled? I'd bet your Gringotts balance is twice mine, easily."

"Being spoiled isn't about what you have. It's about the way you act, so stop throwing tantrums about the fact that she's mine instead of yours and start practicing your manners, Nott."

"Well, it's not fair that you get her just because your mother - "

Tom interrupts, keeping his tone polite despite the stare he's leveling at Nott, "I would suggest you head that advice as well, Nott, per our previous conversation. Excuse me."

He stands, pulling his book bag to his shoulder and walking down the Slytherin table. Malfoy looks up at him but she is still sipping her coffee and does not notice. He pulls the old Charms textbook out of his bag and drops it on the table next to her.

He simply says, "It's due back at the end of term. Please do return it undamaged and on time so I don't get blamed by the librarian."

She puts down her cup and turns partially to look back at him, "Thank you but - "

He sees the way she is moving to shove the book back toward him and stops her before she can, "Oh, and I think your boyfriend is looking for you. See you in potions."

As he is walking away, he hears her excuse herself and get up. He reaches the door to the Great Hall by the time he hears footsteps following. Too heavy to be hers, so he doesn't stop. Malfoy finally catches up to him as he is reaching the staircase down to the dungeons.

"Should I be offended that you didn't say hello, Riddle?" the other boy calls as he matches his strides.

"I wasn't aware we were familiar enough that I should, Malfoy."

"We aren't, but perhaps we should get to be."

"May I know what has sparked this sudden interest?"

"It seems we may have some interests that overlap."

"No, I don't think we do."

"Cassandra."

"I don't know what you mean by that."

"We both know she's not going to touch either of us while she's still dating Rosier."

"Speak for yourself."

"So the rumors are true?"

"No, they are just rumors. And if you'd listened to them, you'd know that was rumored to have happened before she started dating Rosier. I am not interested in Ms. Malecrit, and neither should you be since she is spoken for."

"I see. So the reason you came to interrupt by giving her the one thing she needed from me was just what? Benevolence? Something us Slytherins are so well known for."

"I came to interrupt because you were making a fool of yourself, and I did not want you making a fool of my friend as well."

"How kind of you to worry about Rosier's reputation. Funny that you didn't seem at all concerned about it when you spread that rumor about you two."

"By my friend, I meant Ms. Malecrit. As you will have heard, Ms. Snyde was the one that spread that rumor."

"As I heard from Snyde herself, you were the one that told it to her. Well, told Greengrass to tell it to her, but the end result is pretty much the same."

"I am not sure how many different ways I can tell you that slander is untrue, but it is. Cassandra and I are friends."

"In that case, I would like Cassandra and I to be _friends_ as well. Therefore, I would appreciate if you did not interrupt our interactions again."

"As I have said, I do not want you making a fool of her."

"And how is my interacting with her making a fool of her?"

"You know what everyone will assume."

"Funny how they probably wouldn't if you hadn't already made her out to be a slag, isn't it?" Malfoy says with a smirk. "Don't worry. Though I am looking forward to testing the truth of that reputation soon enough, _I'll_ actually keep my private affairs private. At least until she breaks things off with that git."

Tom turns to face him, jaw locked and wand held at his side, "Touch her and I will - "

"So protective," he says, clicking his tongue. "It's not my fault you picked a flimsy excuse, Riddle. After all, which would harm a Slytherin girl and which would help her - being connected to a mudblood orphan or being connected to the heir of one of the oldest pureblood families around?"

_You lecherous twat, I'll prove to you who I am soon enough._

"I'll make sure to put in a good word for you about your illustrious legacy with Rosier," Tom deadpans after shoving his real thoughts aside. "I'm sure that will convince him you deserve her instead."

"And I'll make sure to put in a good word for you about your illustrious legacy with Cassandra," Malfoy responds with a smirk. "Set those assumptions straight before her parents get wind of any rumors. They're quite the fanatics."

Interesting. Everybody in the wizarding world knows what that word stands for by now. What Tom wonders is why Dumbledore would have let Dippet accept her into Hogwarts in the first place if its such common knowledge that her parents agree with Grindelwald. Then again, it's common knowledge that Rosier's aunt is Grindelwald's right hand, and he's still here.

Tom puts on the big smile he knows always scares people and says, clearly and coldly, before walking away, "You know, you are right about one thing, Malfoy. I am _very_ protective. Keep that in mind before opening your mouth again."

* * *

Tom is sitting in front of the fireplace in the common room, enjoying that it is actually silent for once, when they come tumbling in and ruin it. The whole gang, except for him, back from this month's Hogsmeade trip. She is carrying an arm full of packages. One from the book shop, one from the potioneer, one from the stationer, and the biggest one of all from the candy shop. Tom wonders how many of those she asked for and how many he bought her even though she hadn't.

She drops them to the ground as they all pile into a pair of sofas and cluster of armchairs under the big window looking into the black lake, still chatting and laughing with Selwyn about something. He knew they would get along. He keeps staring at his book while focusing on their conversation.

"Really, I can't believe Cain didn't tell me about my new favorite place in the world sooner. Honeydukes, I'll dream of you," she says with a dramatic sigh and an exaggerated fainting motion, her head landing against Cain's shoulder.

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer as he says, "That wasn't a coincidence. I was hoping to keep you away from the place. You and candy are much too dangerous. You're going to end up going through that stockpile that you said would last you weeks in about the next two days and run me ragged trying to keep up with your sugar-fueled misadventures. Thank you very much, Selwyn."

Selwyn raises an eyebrow and says conspiratorially, "Maybe we can confiscate and hide them. Then ration them out for good behavior."

"Tried that before. She's probably already stashed chocolate wands and sugar quills in all her other bags just in case. Haven't you, Cass?"

"Shush, you know the only reason you're complaining about my stash is because you wish you had bought one of your own. All restraint in the shop, but as soon as you finish quidditch practice you'll be begging me for a chocolate wand," she answers as she slips further into his embrace, her back pressed against his chest as her legs come up to sprawl over the rest of the sofa.

He ducks his head down to press a kiss against her cheek before mumbling, "I do appreciate how you keep a supply of my guilty pleasures around for when my usually enviable self-control falters."

"Merlin, you two, get a room!" Lestrange calls with a groan. "I swear, every week they only gets more sickening. Soon we're going to have to put up a warning at the entrance to the common room."

"Wholeheartedly agree. Please get a room, and not ours," Nott joins in from one of the armchairs.

"It's cute!" Selwyn argues. "Stop complaining just because you two are jealous."

"I'm getting jealous too, love," Avery chimes. "Why don't you do that for me, Connie?"

"For one thing, maybe because after all these years you are still trying to make that insipid nickname catch on. Constance might sound like someone's grandmother, but Connie sounds - Merlin forbid - American."

"Can't win with girls these days," Avery grumbles to Mulciber. "When he does it it's cute, when I do it it's insipid."

"Shut up and scoot over, love," Selwyn orders as she stands from the seat next to Cain to try to scoot her way between Avery and Mulciber, no doubt inspired by Cain and Cassandra's show of affection to prove her own relationship.

They devolve into more bickering - playful, or perhaps not - while Nott, Lestrange, and Mulciber discuss arrangements for an end of term party to follow the last quidditch game before the holidays, occasionally pulling Cain's attention away from some whispered conversation with her to consult him about it. Tom eyes the now empty place near her for a few minutes longer before deciding to stand and walk over.

"Since I won't be getting any work done in here given all this spirited conversation, I thought I might as well join in on it," he declares as explanation. He sees the boys level him with a confused look. He'd never once attended a party, let alone helped plan one. He glares back briefly in a way that dares them to reveal this. He nods to Cain and asks, "You mind?"

Cain grins and says, "Course not, Tom."

She catches his eye as he moves to sit down.

_Has it occurred to you that I might mind?_

_Why would you Cassandra, aren't we friends?_

_Because you know Cain's not going to say he does._

_Your boyfriend's lack of candor is not my problem._

_No, your lack of decency is. Furthermore, isn't it Sunday? Am I not supposed to have the afternoon off from being your friend today?_

_Be nice, little witch. We have company. And you are breaking the rules, aren't you?_

He sees from her expression that she wants to bite back at him, but Cain distracts her with another whisper before she can. Despite the fact that they have grown closer, little fights like this are not uncommon between them. If anything, they have grown more common - perhaps a sign she is becoming more comfortable around him.

A simple targeted amplifying spell and he is able to listen to their conversation, while pretending to nod along to the one the boys are having. Good thing he has been studying up on French since she had arrived.

"Ça va aller."

_It will be fine._ What will?

"Tu n'as pas à y aller, Cass."

_You don't have to go._ Go where?

"Oui, laisse-moi les rendre fous. Garantissez-moi un été amusant."

_Yes, let me make them mad. Guarantee myself a fun summer._ Her parents, he guesses. He wants to tell her that he can take care of them for her, just like he'd taken care of his own father. He will take care of them for her. He just needs to find out where.

"Tu n'as pas non plus à rentrer chez toi pour l'été."

_You don't have to go home for the summer either._ Stupid little prince, focusing on short-term solutions. Or more likely, trying to make sure she stays dependent on him so she can't leave even if she wants to. Why does she think he's the bad guy when Cain's the one basically holding her in a cage?

"Non, tes parents - "

_No. Your parents -_ and then Cain interrupts, just as Tom is thinking he might learn something useful. Maybe learn why she'd said no to him in the first place.

"Serait heureux de tu avoir."

_Would be happy to have you._

Just as she begins to respond, their conversation is interrupted again by Nott calling out, "Hello, Rosier! We've been trying to get your attention for ages. Are you all stocked on supplies?"

"Depends on whether or not Riddle plans to confiscate any more of them," Cain answers with a laugh and a nudge toward him.

"I'll leave your precious alcohol alone as long as you don't have it out in the open in the common room again. And remember, Cass, prefects don't get caught breaking rules."

The room falls into silence at him dropping her nickname in public. Everybody else is still and waiting to see what happens. He can see Cain holding back a reaction, his jaw twitching, the veins on his arm popping out.

She breaks the tension by responding, "Getting caught doesn't matter if you can convince the person that catches you to look the other way, Tom."

He smirks back, "If you're stupid enough to get caught, maybe you don't deserve them looking the other way."

"Does life really care about what people deserve?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. He can't help but let the thought slip through.

_I deserve you, little witch. Not that buffoon._

_You deserve a swift kick._

Cain interrupts the silence, unaware of the mental conversation they are having, "Don't worry, Tom, we'll find somewhere else to have the party and keep things quiet. Right, Nott? No inviting all the Ravenclaw girls this time, mate."

Nott chuckles before answering, "Don't worry, Rosier, the only girl I am currently interested in will definitely already be there."

This remark earns him glares from both of them. Tom will have to speak to him about this. He thought he'd already made it clear enough such behavior was no longer allowed. If there has to be a competition, Tom wants to be the only competitor.

Avery rolls his eyes and changes the subject, "If you're going to commit us to finding another room, you better be bringing the good stuff, Rosier."

"Unfortunately the good stuff is in short supply as quite a few precious bottles were already confiscated. You all will be drinking Ogdens and Wizard's Brew."

"Come on, I saw bottles of Blishen's in your trunk. Not to mention Quintin Black. Or are those all being saved for you and your girlfriend?"

"For me, yes. You know how hard it is to acquire anything decent from Hogsmeade during the term," Cain responds with a grin. "As for Cassandra, she only drinks champagne."

Tom chuckles and turns to her, "Don't you have expensive taste, Cass."

"Sometimes good taste happens to be expensive," she responds despite his dig at her relationship. She smirks before slipping in, "Besides, I'd rather have the best than some bastardized version of it."

The entire room falls to silence again. All waiting to see what Tom will do in response to the dig. To the word all of them know better than to ever mention around him.

It has to have been Malfoy. He must have told her.

But, thinking back on it, he realizes she's been on edge for the last few days, alternating between arguing with him and ignoring him completely. Today's just the first time she's let her claws come all the way out.

Maybe Malfoy had said something more to her. What? Technically, he'd never lied to her about who he was. He'd just never told her either, so she can't claim to have been deceived. The origin of the rumors? But she had already guessed that he'd started them, so that should not have come as a surprise.

What else could Malfoy possibly know? He is on the quidditch team. Seeker. Maybe Cain had blabbed about something. Then again, Malfoy's not that close with the rest of the team, and it's not like Cain really knows anything significant about his plans anyway or like he's stupid enough to talk about what he does know. If it had just been about one of their arguments, he can hardly see her being taken aback by that.

It has to be about his upbringing. There's nothing else it can be. He hadn't pegged her as one to judge, what with her own background. But then again, her family still manages to boast centuries of pureblood heritage - not exactly something one achieves by associating themselves with anyone but those of similar lineage.

He just keeps the smile on his face as he responds, "Good that you know what you want. I have a meeting with the head boy in ten minutes. Excuse me."

_Don't forget we have patrols tonight. You'll pay for this later, sweetheart._

* * *

Cassandra is taking a break from studying with a walk to the greenhouses to check on her herbology project when she hears footsteps behind her on the path. She doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.

"Come to enjoy the weather?" she quips as Lestrange catches up.

"What was that back there?" he asks, already scowling.

"Do you mean the spell I did to search the Defense textbook? See, it's a simple - "

He sighs, as if he needs to make his exasperation even more clear, "Cass, what did I say about pissing off Tom Riddle?"

"I couldn't help it, he was being a prick."

" _He_ was being a prick? Really? Because to everyone else in the room it looked like you were being catty to him for no reason."

"No reason? He insisted on coming to sit next to us despite the fact that - "

"Don't play the victim. It was the only open seat in the group, and he even asked first."

"Merlin, is everyone around here in love with Tom bloody Riddle? Do you all have some kind of cult worship thing going on? Because it's as if you all are blind to the fact that he insulted me first."

"He was being perfectly polite."

"Yes, so polite to comment on my _expensive taste_. What else do you think that was but a veiled way of calling me a gold digger?"

"Even if it was, it didn't merit what you said in return!"

"Why not? He hit me where it hurts most so I did the same to him. I don't see what's so wrong with that. If it was anyone else, you wouldn't have expected me to just let it go."

"Seriously, Cass? You think that's proportional?"

"Enough, Roland. Cain already scolded me, so you don't have to do it too."

"Cass, you have to - "

"No, I don't. I'm not apologizing to that prick. End of discussion."

"Cass - "

"Another word and I'm going back to Beauxbatons. There's no point being here anyway if I can't even get away from them and I have to deal with him too."

"Are you serious right now? It's just words, Cass, even you can manage that."

"I guess you'll see how serious I am after the holidays, hmm? Bye," she says with a sarcastic smile. Before he can say anything in response, she runs off down the path.

* * *

To Tom's mild surprise, she still shows up to patrols that evening. He had half expected her to be feigning an illness, as she hadn't even been at dinner. She's still in the not-nearly-warm-enough clothes she wore to Hogsmeade and she's covered in dirt, but she's there.

"What happened to you?" he sneers as he walks up to their meeting spot at the bottom of the staircase to the dungeons. "Went to go find those trolls I told you about?"

"Close," she answers, staring at the blank wall in front of her instead of at him. "I went for a run in the forest, if you must be so curious."

"In that dress?"

"Yes."

"After dark?"

"Yes."

"The forbidden forest?"

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back against the stone, sighing, "Yes, though I really don't see why my whereabouts are any of your business."

"Perhaps because it is _forbidden_? I'll have to tell Slughorn."

"Or you could, you know… just shut up for once, Riddle."

He leans over her, forearms against the wall to cage her in, "I can't just let someone break the rules without consequence."

She opens her eyes but barely moves her head, staring up at him. She looks smaller than usual somehow, their height difference more noticeable than before. She's silent for a second, lips pursed, eyes exploring him. He stays still, waiting for her to retaliate. She just asks calmly, "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Walk so quietly. It's strange."

"No, it's not. Just a simple spell and practice."

"It is. You are."

"Don't - "

"So you don't like being called strange? I wonder why that is."

"Would you like it, Cassandra?"

She shrugs slightly but does not answer. He leans forward and kisses her. She stays limp, limbs pressed back against the wall, lips and head motionless. He pushes his body against hers and still nothing. This reaction is strange. More than strange. Concerning. He pulls away to look at her again. She just stays there, as if waiting. He steps back and she finally straightens up.

"So, shall we get on with patrols then?" she asks casually.

His eyes narrow. This must be some kind of trick. Perhaps she thinks this is the way to get him to finally lose interest. His tone is sharper than he means it to be when he asks, "What?"

"Are you done? Have I paid you back for my little insult earlier yet?"

"Are you going to fight back if I'm not?"

"Why would I? Evidently, everybody will just take your side anyway. At this point, it's not worth the hassle. I'll be back at Beauxbatons in a few weeks anyway so - "

"I didn't think you would be one to give up, little witch."

"Recognizing when you are outmatched is as much of a talent as any."

"So you admit you are outmatched?"

"Not inherently, no. But you've had four more years to get everyone on your side. And you're a man. The circumstances aren't in my favor. So congratulations, if you wanted to make a fool out of me you have succeeded."

"And if that's not what I wanted, Cassandra?" he hisses.

She looks away from him, "Then I guess we both lose."

He wants to lift his hand and turn her face back toward him, to let his fingers linger on her jaw and maybe even sweep over her lips. Instead he takes another step back and commands, "Go to the prefect's bath and clean yourself up, then get some rest. I'll have a house elf bring you a change of clothes and something to eat."

"What about patrols? Are you going to tell on me for skipping them too?" she sneers.

"Of course not, Cassandra. It's clear you need some time. Take it. Let me know if you need anything else."

"This isn't going to work. I'm not going to believe you are nice just because you changed your tune all of a sudden. You're not nice."

"No, I am not nice," Tom agrees. "And I don't expect you to believe that I am, as I have noticed how good you are at reading people, Cass. Now go."

"Then why are you doing this?" she asks, eyes narrowed at him. He looks away.

_For some reason I want to take care of you._

Merlin, how sappy. It makes even him want to throw up. He shoves the thought down and makes up an excuse.

"In your current state, you'll be useless on patrols anyway. I'm really just making things easier for myself, right? Isn't that what you expect of me? Please get on with it so that I can get patrols started rather than standing in this hallway all night. I do need to sleep too, you know."

She nods and moves aside, making her way toward the fifth floor. When she is halfway up the stairs, she turns only her head back and calls out, "Tom?"

"Yes?" he asks before he knows it, surprised by the interruption, surprised by himself. He'd been watching her leave as if he was in some kind of trance.

She pauses, bites her lip for a second, and then manages to say, "I'm sorry."

He stares at her lips, at the way they and her cheeks have flushed with red, and imagines her apologizing with them in a different way, littering kisses down his body as she drops to her knees and… fuck, he realizes there's a chance she might be seeing all of this and that might be _why_ her cheeks are red.

He can't bring himself to address it out loud so he thinks it instead.

_What did I say about treading carefully? Leave, little witch._


	10. The Plot Thickens

He brushes off her comment about going back to Beauxbatons as simply the result of her bad mood. Just a temporary lapse, something she had surely come to her senses about by the morning. They don't talk about that night again, and the next week passes normally. Anyway, he has bigger problems to deal with. Namely, Malfoy. Getting that fucker the fuck away from her before he causes any more trouble.

The end of term party is that weekend and he thinks of a way to use it in his favor. A special brew concocted just for her, a well-timed whisper to Malfoy by one of his minions, and an even better timed rescue from Malfoy by Tom. A way to turn her against him and continue to win over her trust for himself.

To avoid any suspicion, Tom does not linger at the party himself. He just does his customary drop in at the start, making the rounds to say hello and cultivate his popularity. Watching out of the corner of his eye as Cain takes every victory drink he's offerred. Watching as she slips loose from his hold, tired of the Quidditch talk, to find Selwyn and a group of other girls who she can stand being with. Watching as Nott approaches her to offer a drink from the very special bottle of champagne which he claims to have acquired for her - which Tom had actually given him. Then he departs.

It should still take a while for the effects to kick in. Long enough for him to sneak into the restricted section and finish the other task he has planned for tonight. Short enough that everyone else will still be enjoying the party when she leaves.

* * *

Tom watches from around the corner as she stumbles before catching herself against a wall, pressing her palms flat as she leans into it. Malfoy steps forward, right arm outstretched, until he's close enough for his fingers to brush against her thigh, and says reassuringly, "Let me take care of you, Cassandra."

"I'm fine," she mumbles. She tries to pull away but he pushes forward, trapping her against the wall so that if she tries to move her legs she will trip and lose her balance instead. He closes his fingers around the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up until he can feel her skin. She reaches back to push him away. She misses. Her speech is slurred, "I told you'm not interested."

He grabs her arm with his right hand before she can try again, pulling it back so she can't stop him again. This time he slips his left hand underneath her skirt before pushing it up. He squeezes her leg just above her knee, using his grip to push her back against him, as he says, "Don't pretend to be so modest. I won't tell, so you don't have to worry about him."

"I'm not," she scoffs as she tries to twist her arm out of his grip. He pulls her leg, spreading it apart from the other despite her best efforts to try to keep them together as she slurs, "Don't like you."

"Now, we both know if that was true you would have found a way to get me off of you by now even in this state, don't we? Besides, your body rather gives you away, love," he teases, sliding his hand between her legs. He lowers his head to press his lips closer to her ear and whisper, "Relax, Cassandra. Give yourself to me and I will give you so much more than you ever dreamed of. All that brat wants is to race around on brooms for the rest of his life. I'll become minister one day, don't you want to be the minister's wife? And don't even get me started on the little orphan boy and how pointless that is."

He wedges his knee between her legs to keep them spread as she continues trying to squirm away. As her stance widens, she leans her chest into the wall in front of her, no longer able to keep her balance on her own. She hisses back, "Take your hands off."

She yelps as he tightens his grip and pushes her harder against the wall. He warns, "I said relax. We'll have so much more fun if you play along. Don't pretend you don't want to."

"I'll tell," she whispers. One last desperate attempt to get her out of this now that she realized she's not physically able to do it on her own, no doubt.

"Please do. Not that anyone will even believe your version of the story. They'll think it's just a desperate attempt to come off as less of a slut than you really are. After all, your reputation has already taken quite a few blows. This one will likely prove fatal. You'll be ruined for anyone else. All mine."

"I would nev - _fuck_ ," she cries out as he moves his hand. From this angle, Tom cannot see what Malfoy is doing exactly - but he knows whatever it is he wants to kill him for it. Not yet, he reminds himself. He has to let Malfoy finish digging his own grave first. She takes a few more shaky breathes before whimpering, "Stop."

"Aww, are you about to come for me?" Malfoy teases.

Tom is not sure if even she expects what happens next. Certainly, the potion was meant to suppress her magic. To muddy her head so much that she wouldn't be able to control it and get it to come out. Suppressed - definitely not. Out of control - it appears so.

Malfoy is thrown back, hitting the wall with a crack. He crumples to his knees, then tries to stand. A ring of fire encircles him. Suddenly he's clawing at his clothes as if he himself is on fire, even though the flames haven't touched him. He's begging for her to stop. She just stands a few inches away, glaring at him with a smile and a blank look on her face. He falls back down to his knees. He's holding his head and crying.

Tom is fascinated. By the look of terror on Malfoy's face. By how calm she is about the whole thing. As if she doesn't even realize what she is doing.

And then he realizes she most definitely does not realize what she is doing, because the harm she is inflicting passes beyond cruel to potentially deadly. The flames are lashing out to lick at his skin now, leaving welts and scars. He's screaming loudly enough for someone to overhear, and she isn't bothering to silence him.

Tom steps forward, intending to make her snap out of whatever this is, but she does not even look up. He tries to get her attention by saying, "Cassandra… Cass! Look at me. You have to stop or you're going to get expelled."

Still no response. He keeps going until he's close enough to touch her shoulder before trying again, more softly this time, "Cass, look at me."

She shakes her head and does. Malfoy's screaming stops and he falls forward, only his trembling arms holding him up. He's just panting now, trying to catch his breath. The fire disappears as if it was never there. Tom pulls out his wand and stuns him. She looks at him, eyebrows raising as if she's understanding for the first time what she's done and exactly how much trouble she could be in for it.

"Listen to me. I'm going to obliviate him, then take you back to the common room. You can't mention a word of what happened to anyone, understand?"

She nods. He does the spell, then wraps an arm around her waist to help steady her on the walk back. Luckily, the common room is still empty when they arrive. He hobbles his way up the steps to the boy's dormitories with her. There's blood on the hem of her dress and neither of them know if its hers or his, so he offers her one of his shirts to change into.

"What if someone notices…" she starts, taking a seat on his bed, somewhat more comprehensible than before but still holding her head as if every word is a challenge.

"I'll take care of it. Drink this and go to sleep," he commands, voice stern, before turning away to draw the curtains around his bed. His attention is called back to her with a whisper of his name. She doesn't say anything else but when he looks at her he knows what she wants to ask. He drops to his knees so he can look directly at her. "Why would I be afraid of you, Cassandra?"

"It's not what it looks like, I didn't just… there was a reason."

Merlin, why does her face and the tone of her voice seem so familiar to him right now? He realizes it a second later. He'd probably said those exact words looking just as terrified and sounding just as worried when he was younger, at the orphanage.

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Cassandra. Anyway, I know. I heard some of it and just as I was about to step in - well, you know. As far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved. But some of the professors might not see it that way."

"If they even believe me in the first place, you mean."

"As I said, I'll take care of it. Give me your hand," he orders. She reaches it out to him and he heals the red marks left on her wrist, checking for any other injuries he can see before looking back at her. "Go to sleep, little witch."

She nods, an invisible thanks in her eyes, before laying down and closing them. He pulls the curtains around her and then sets to work.

It will be too obvious if he goes back to the party himself. Instead, he goes down to the common room and waits until the first one, Mulciber, comes trailing back - likely struck out early with all of the girls there as usual - then orders him to get the others, as well as Greengrass and Selwyn for good measure, without making it too obvious they are all leaving together.

Avery and Selwyn come first, luckily. He orders her to go up, muss Cassandra's bed, pull the curtains around it, and if anyone asks say she was already sleeping when she entered the room. The girl gives him a suspicious look and opens her mouth as if to ask for more information, but instead she simply agrees and goes up to the girls dormitories. He has Avery take a seat while they wait for the rest of the boys.

* * *

"What the fuck, Tom?" is the first thing Cain says upon walking into the room with the rest of the boys and seeing her. He storms toward the bed, looking back at Tom with an expression that can only be described as murderous.

"Feel free to move her if you'd like to be the one to wake her," Tom answers with a shrug, turning back to the rest of the group. "It goes without saying that what I'm about to say is not to leave this room, but I will say it anyway. Apparently, _someone_ here was not paying enough attention to his girlfriend tonight, so Malfoy took advantage of the chance to drug her and try something in the corridors while pretending to walk her back. Luckily, I was - "

Cain blanches at the news, but it is Lestrange that speaks up. Interesting.

"Where is he?" he asks hurriedly. "Did you tell Dippet?"

"I don't believe there is any need to involve the headmaster in this, Lestrange. That is exactly why I called all of you," Tom says. He watches Lestrange carefully as he speaks, noticing the relief that passes over him. The rest of them probably interpret it as a choice to preserve her reputation. Tom can tell Lestrange understands there's another reason for it. Very interesting.

He continues, looking to the rest of them as he speaks, "Avery and Mulciber, go track down the Slytherin prefects on patrol tonight. They should be around the third floor now. Tell them you heard noises coming from the hallway outside the potions storeroom on your way back. Lestrange, with me. Nott and Rosier, go back to the party and make sure that no one leaves for the next half hour or so."

As the others start to shuffle out, Cain remains standing by her side. Tom rolls his eyes, assuming he is purposefully resisting his orders, "I gave her a calming drought already. There's nothing much else that can be done. The best thing for her is to sleep through the night and sleep it off. Trust me when I say this is the most you can do for her right now."

Cain grits his teeth, finally looking up, "I disagree, but we can deal with that later."

* * *

"Shit," the word rolls out of Lestrange's mouth quietly as soon as they round the corner to see the still crumpled form of Malfoy, burn marks covering most of his arms and cuts across his face and chest. Tom ignores it for now.

"Am I correct in believing that the rumors Malfoy smokes are true?"

"Yes," Lestrange responds curtly.

"Check and make sure he has his pipe on him," Tom instructs. Lestrange leans down and rummages through the older boy's pockets, nodding back up to him when he finds it. "Good. There's a secret passageway at the end of the hallway which I will open so it looks he fell down the stairs coming back in from a smoke break after he left the party. It'll explain any head injuries that can't be fixed. Heal the cuts and any large breaks you find, then check the corridor over there to make sure there's no sign of her. I'll work on the scars."

Lestrange nods again and sets to work without another word. Tom goes to open the door first, then comes back to do his part, chasing over and over again until there's barely no trace of the burns, "Vulnera Sanentur."

"Anything?" Tom asks a few moments later when Lestrange repairs.

"Just her hair ribbon. I picked it up. There's one thing I think might help," Lestrange says as he pulls something out of his robe pocket.

A bottle of firewhisky. Sharp thinking. Lestrange pats enough of it on Malfoy's clothes to make sure he smells strongly of alcohol. Tom takes the nearly empty bottle and smashes it at the foot of the stairs, leaving a puddle and shards of glass.

"Do you think that's good enough?" Lestrange asks nervously.

"Doesn't matter," Tom answers. "We need to head back now. The prefects can cover for any missing details. Let's go."

Silence lapses between them until they are halfway back and well out of the path the prefects will take down, at which time Tom decides it is a good moment to bring this up, "So, how many times has that happened before?"

"You noticed Cain doesn't know so you must know it can't have been often," Lestrange replies, staying calm outwardly but clearly uncomfortable.

"You are forgetting that there's exactly two people left who know what happened in that corridor. Cassandra and I. I highly suggest you answer my question."

"I mean, Cassandra always had a temper, but only once that I know of was it nearly that bad. There were just smaller things that added up over the years until I couldn't help but notice a pattern. It's not like… she's not dangerous, really, if that's what you're worried about," Lestrange answers. Even as he says it, Tom can tell he is lying. Or at least not telling the whole truth.

No wonder she'd asked if he was afraid. The only other person who seems to know is.

* * *

Avery and Mulciber come back a few minutes after Tom and Lestrange. Nott and Rosier follow about 15 minutes later, confirming the Slytherin prefects shut down the party after finding Malfoy to avoid anybody else getting in to trouble or Slughorn stumbling upon any stray students once he was alerted of the incident.

Of course, the first thing Nott does is head back to the common room to finish snogging a girl. the first thing Cain does is go to her side, taking her hand. The rest of the boys sense the tension in the room and busy themselves with preparing for bed.

Cain prods her and says gently, "Cass, darling, wake up for a second for me."

She stirs, opening her eyes to look at him, face furrowed in confusion for a second before she recollects herself and where she is. She turns toward him, laying her other hand on top of his as well, before muttering, "Cain. You look worried. Don't be worried."

He strokes her hair while attempting a smile, "Alright, I won't be, princess. Do me a favor and get up, yeah?"

She nods and follows his instructions. He shoots a look up at Tom as soon as she shrugs off the blanket to reveal that she is only wearing a rather disheveled white dress shirt, then pulls his own robe off to wrap around her as she stands and shepherds her over to his bed instead.

He sits on the side of the bed as he settles her in under the covers before asking, "Do you need anything, Cass?"

She sits up in the bed, her eyes locked on him as if he is the only one in the room, her voice low, "Water please?"

He uses the Aguamenti Charm to fill the cup on his bedside table and hands it to her. She drinks all of it and then gives it back to him.

"Anything else, darling?" he asks. She shakes her head. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she answers, leaning forward against his chest as she wraps her arms around him. She mutters into it, "Tom took care of me."

"Yes, wasn't that nice of him," Cain says in a tone too polite to be anywhere near sincere. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, Cass. I promise that in the future, I'll - "

"I said not to worry, remember? I'm fine," she says with a crooked smile up at him. "You can't protect me from everything, Cain."

"I can try, can't I?" he answers back with the same crooked smile. She laughs, and it is a laugh she usually only laughs around him. A noise she's only made around Tom once, in the library. Not mocking or sarcastic or bitter or feigned. Just happy. "You know I'll always be here for you, Cass. Wake me up if you need anything, kay?"

"I know. I love you, Cain," she whispers before pecking him on the cheek.

The quill in Tom's hand as he writes out his schedule for the next day snaps in half.

Cain steps away as she lays down and closes her eyes again, drawing the curtains around the bed and then casting a silencing charm on them. Tom catches Lestrange perk up to attention as Cain turns to him, as if ready to jump in at the first sign of conflict.

He stands there confidently, arms crossed in front of him, as he declares, "For the record, next time my girlfriend is in trouble, just let me know."

"Why? Are you the only one who gets to rescue her, prince charming?"

"You really have to ask why after you used it as an excuse to put her in that?"

"Her dress was dirty."

"So? I thought I already made this clear enough - don't touch Cassandra."

"I wasn't the one that touched her. But I was the one that saved her. Something you seem rather ungrateful for considering that you were so pissed you apparently couldn't even keep an eye on her at the time."

"I _did_ keep an eye on her, so I know I wouldn't have let her drink enough for something like this to happen. I know myself, so I know no matter how drunk I was I would never have let her out of my sight in this state."

"It sounds an awful lot like you are accusing me of something, Cain. What that is I cannot fathom."

"Of course not, Tom," he answers with a grin. "Just refuting your claims of my incompetence. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my girlfriend - and, yes, for the record I would like to be the one to do it in the future, since I am best equipped to handle it."

"Not in this case at least, it appears."

" _Really_? You found a girl who was drugged and decided to deal with that by drugging her some more. She's fine now but do you think she still will be when the potions wear off in the middle of the night and she remembers what happened?" Cain rants. Tom falls silent, staring down at the stained parchment in front of him, wishing he could snap Cain in half as easily as he'd broken the writing instrument still in his hand. Cain smirks and continues, "In the future, let me take care of Cassandra, since you clearly can't and its not your place to."

Tom waves his hand dismissively and returns to work. At least his sheets smell like her when he finally burrows into them after the rest of the boys have fallen asleep.

* * *

Tom is standing in front of his wardrobe the next morning, getting ready for the day after a hot shower and an unusually long night. He can't remember the last time he woke up this late, if ever. He can't remember the last time he slept this badly. Despite the number of hours of rest he supposedly got, he still feels like he is dragging.

A noise behind him prompts him to turn his head to look over his shoulder. He sees her climbing out of Rosier's bed and pulls his shirt on quickly. She stands up, the quidditch robe she is still wearing engulfing her frame, before shrugging it off and laying it on the bed gently.

"They've all gone off to practice," Tom says, turning to her. "Apologies, I assumed you'd gone as well."

"I know, he told me," she says, voice cracking, before taking a drink of water. "You shouldn't be apologizing. I should, but I don't like to, so I'll just say thank you."

She looks at him as if she wants to say something else, but remains silent for a few moments. He already knows what by the expression on her face. Knows what she's seen that has suddenly made her have the impulse to be kind. The whipping scars. That damned orphanage and their damned idea of punishment. Up until this moment, he'd been so careful not to reveal them to anybody else, always changing when the room was empty or in one of the bathroom stalls.

And he's still determined not to talk about them at least, so he grits out in the most polite tone he can manage, "No need. You can leave now."

He's distracted from his bitterness when she reaches for her own shirt - his shirt that she is wearing, actually - and begins unbuttoning the top. He stares, wondering what she is doing, until she pulls one side down and turns to reveal a series of long scars from the top of her shoulder running down below where he can see. Sunken instead of raised like his. The result of a cutting curse, he guesses. Or a knife.

"Who?" he finds slipping out of his mouth.

"My mother. Yours?" she responds calmly.

"The orphanage matron."

"The - " she starts with a look of surprise.

"Yes, you heard that right."

"I didn't know. Though I was wondering, to be honest."

"Why?"

"Lady Lilith. It's a muggle reference. And your name, of course."

"Is that what you laughed at that day?"

"No… mostly no. But I'm being honest when I say I didn't know."

"I know."

"Did you?"

"I guessed," he admits. For a second, he feels ashamed about it for some reason. Expects her to be angry at him for figuring it out. He waits but she does not bite back. He doesn't know what possesses him to ask next, "Can I?"

He does know that he definitely wants to touch her - nearly constantly, though more so now than usual - but he also knows it's a question he does not need to ask to know the answer to.

Unexpectedly, she nods.

He moves slowly in case he startles her or in case she changes her mind. It's the first time he's asked for permission to touch her. He wants it not to be the last. More so, he wants her to ask for permission to touch him. But she does not. She just stands still as he approaches her.

He runs his fingers across the marks, slowly, memorizing every inch of them, of her. Mesmerized by the fact that someone else has nearly the same scars. Mesmerized by the texture of her skin and the way goosebumps rise across the paths his fingers travel along it. Mesmerized by the warmth he can feel under the surface, like something in her is calling to him.

He loses track of time. He knows minutes have passed, but not how many, by the time she whispers, so quiet he almost thinks he imagined it, "Isn't it funny how broken people always find each other?"

"They tried to break us. They didn't succeed. At least, you don't look broken to me, Cassandra," he whispers back, leaning down so his lips are near her ear.

He bends his head to kiss her shoulder. She does not move away. He wants this moment to last forever. Until she turns her head.

He feels the gravitational pull of his body to hers, urging him to take advantage of her movement to press their lips together - and she doesn't stop him when he does. He's devouring her before he knows it, tongue greedily probing into her mouth, hands pulling her closer. She turns fully, keeping their lips together, letting him push her back against the bed post, his body molding to hers.

Nevermind, he wants _this_ moment to last forever. He thinks it will in his mind. He feels like he is falling into a void he will never escape from. She's kissing him back and he is falling.

There's a bang in the hallway. She pulls back suddenly, head turning to stare at the door.

Right, she's technically someone else's forever. Or at least for now.

The noise passes, the door remains closed, and after a few moments she turns back to look at him again, faces still only a few inches apart. Their lips almost touch as she murmers, "This doesn't mean I like you."

"If you say so," Tom responds with a smirk.

"If you tell anybody, I'll kill you."

"If I don't, will we keep doing this?"

She doesn't know how to answer him out loud, so she just stares back into his eyes. He doesn't know how to say he needs it to be more without scaring her away, so he decides to take a tip from Cain's playbook to resolve the dilemma. He doesn't.

_Maybe. Sometimes._

_I won't say a word, little witch._


End file.
